


Blow Me

by rockstarpeach



Series: Blow Me 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Being an Asshole, Denial, Eventual Happy Ending, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Homophobia, Humor, M/M, Sam Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockstarpeach/pseuds/rockstarpeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam don't like giving head.  They both like <i>getting</i> head, though and sometimes, you just gotta take one for the team.</p><p>They aren't gay.  They swear, they're not.  They just sometimes like to have sex with each other, to relieve some tension.  It doesn't mean anything.  It <i>doesn't</i>, okay?</p><p>No real timeline, just floating somewhere happily in Wincest space (though writing started sometime during S4) and isn't influenced either way by canon events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blow Me

**Author's Note:**

> Be advised, though this work of fiction is meant to be humourous, some may find it offensive. It contains incest (which is only peripherally a problem for the boys) and blatant, self-directed homophobia. This results in the boys (read Dean) doing/saying things that may come across as calloused/insensitive/outright mean. This work takes certain aspects of the Winchesters' personalities and amplifies them, for comedic effect and is not meant to be taken too seriously.
> 
> Basically, I started writing this as a spoof, to see if I could get the boys to fuck while actively not caring for each other (in that way that even casual lovers do) and after many, many words, wound up with something that looked very different in the end, than it started out.
> 
> So hang in there, otp-ers!

They’d been working on a case. 

It was actually easier than most, just a fairly standard haunting, nothing to do but track down and burn an old pair of mittens that happened to be neatly stacked away in the basement storage area of an apartment building. They should have been in and out in a matter of hours, but the girl whose apartment had been haunted had caught Dean’s eye. She was tall, thin with short red hair and curves in all the right places. And she’d seemed to have her on Dean right back, leaning too close, flashing him coy smiles. Naturally, Dean had been dragging his feet.

They’d been in this shithole of a town for two days now, and all because Dean was trying to get laid. Not that he ever really had to work very hard. Hell, Dean could get laid pretty much anytime he liked, but Sam also knew that he sometimes liked the flirting that built up to the sex almost as much as the sex itself.

On the third night, when they figured that the spirit might actually take a shot at Robin, when they thought her life might actually be in danger, Dean had finally stopped dicking around, and let them kill the damn thing.

“You sure have been helpful, uh… Christine. Thanks,” Dean said, with that stupid, dirty leer in his voice as he flipped his phone shut. Christ. He was flirting with the landlady on the phone, right in front of another girl whose pants he was trying to get into. He was shameless.

He stood up and lifted his hand towards Sam, holding out a small piece of torn blue paper from the pad on the fridge. A locker number and combination were printed on it Dean’s messy scrawl – the storage unit that had belonged to Robin’s apartment’s previous tenant. Why the stuff hadn’t been cleared out when the guy died, Sam didn’t know. 

“Don’t know what it is, so just burn everything in there.” The dead guy had been cremated, they’d learned yesterday and the apartment had been completely empty when Robin moved in, so whatever it was that was tying his spirit to this place, it must have been something in that locker.

“Me?” Sam asked, pulling a face and huffing out an irritated breath. “What the hell are you gonna do?”

Dean smiled and lifted his eyebrows, cocking his head toward Robin. “Stay here,” he said. “Don’t want to leave the pretty lady unprotected.”

Sam sighed and snatched the paper out of Dean’s hand, rolling his eyes. He grabbed his shotgun off the table, felt his pocket for his lighter and grumbled under his breath as he stepped out the door.

“You owe me, jerk,” he hissed. The door snapped shut behind him to the sound of Dean’s laughter.

Twenty minutes later, after several unsuccessful attempts that involved a photo album, a box of Christmas decorations, and a seriously hardcore ass kicking, the ghost had finally vanished in a mess of screaming flames, when Sam had set lighter to an old pair of wool mittens.

When he gingerly climbed the stairs back up to Robin’s apartment, he pushed open the door to find her and Dean sitting together on the couch, his arm wrapped around her shoulders and her hand on Dean’s thigh.

Figured. Sam did the hard work, while Dean sat around on his pretty little ass and he was the one that got the girl. Not that Sam had been after this particular girl, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

“Get him?” Dean asked, eyes flitting over Sam’s face, then the rest of him. Sam watched him take in the cut on his lip, the blossoming bruise over his left eye and the way he was flexing his right wrist carefully, wincing when it pulled too far.

A little banged up, but nothing to worry about. Dean nodded almost imperceptibly, like he was checking ‘make sure Sam’s okay’ off a mental list and then when Sam just stared at him, asked, “well?”

“Yeah, I got him.”

“Thank you,” Robin told him, looking up at him with wide eyes and a sincere smile. “Seriously, thanks. You guys are like… my heroes.”

Sam fought a slight blush. What? It was nice to be appreciated. They didn’t often get that in their line of work.

“You’re welcome,” he told her warmly, before turning to give Dean and expectant look. He was tired, he was sore and he wanted to get the hell back to the room. He wanted to get cleaned up, take six Aspirin and pass the fuck out.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “Didn’t you say you had that, uh, _thing_ you had to get to? Right now?”

Sam frowned and bit down gently on his bottom lip. For one stupid second he actually tried to recall what kind of _thing_ Dean might have been talking about. Then his brain kicked in.

“Thing?”

“Yeah, you know. Thing. It’s okay, go ahead and take off. I’ll just stick around for a while, make sure Robin’s… good. I’ll meet you back at the room later.”

“No,” he said, voice taking on that tone that always had Dean calling him a bitch. He couldn’t really help it; he tended to slip into it when he was feeling… bitchy. Which, to be fair, happened a lot around Dean. “I cancelled that _thing_. And I think that ghost sprained my wrist, so I can’t even drive, Dean.” It wasn’t really true, but he rubbed his right wrist anyway for emphasis. It did hurt, but it was probably nothing more than bad bruise.

Dean looked at him, narrowed his eyes and scrunched up his nose. Sam waited him out.

“Fine,” he sighed, after a few seconds. “I’ll take you back. Baby.” 

He turned to Robin, kissed her.

“I’ll call you later, okay?” he asked and she nodded. “Maybe after I get her highness tucked in for the night.”

Sam huffed in irritation, Robin chuckled and Dean ignored him. Then he kissed her again. For a little too long. Sam clenched his teeth to keep the growl from escaping his throat. It had no business being there, anyway.

He turned and walked out without another word, down the stairs and out the door. The car was parked two spots over from the entrance so it take long for him to fall into the passenger, to wait for Dean. And if he slammed the door on Dean’s precious baby just a bit too hard, well, Dean wasn’t here to give him shit over it. He was probably upstairs getting a thank-you blowjob while Sam waited down here in agony. 

Even if his fake sprain wasn’t actually hurting all that much.

It wasn’t that Sam was jealous, because Sam didn’t really get jealous. Okay, so that wasn’t even close to true, but he honestly didn’t get jealous over the random sex Dean had with random people. That kind of reaction would be a bit hard to explain, especially when him and Dean weren’t even having sex, random or otherwise, with each other.

Not really.

They jerked each other off sometimes, and there had even been a few blow jobs exchanged, when they were feeling a particular need for some tension relief, but that was it. They weren’t… coupley, they didn’t fuck or hold hands or snuggle in front of the television. They didn’t spoon or fall asleep in the same bed, or gently caress each other’s cheeks. Hell, they hadn’t even kissed.

The first time it happened, as with all spectacularly bad ideas, they’d been drunk. They’d been watching some Three Stooges flick, somehow the motel television got turned over to porn, and they’d just sort of… ended up pulling each other to orgasm with one hand, pouring beer into their mouths with the other, propped up side by side against the headboard of Dean’s bed with their pants around their thighs.

They’d started out just touching themselves, shyly at first, but as the need got greater and the alcohol clouded their judgement they’d gotten more blatant about it. Dean pulled himself out first, Sam soon after, hands slap-slapping against sweat-slippery flesh. At some point, Dean had looked over at Sam, snorted in amusement, and Sam had stopped his hand moving, frowned and asked, “What?”

“Dude, you’re doing it wrong,” Dean had told him.

“What?!” Sam baulked, and his mouth fell open. “I think I know how to jerk myself off, Dean.”

“Yeah, you’d think so after all the practise you must have had,” Dean smirked. “And yet, you’re doing it wrong.”

Sam floundered, mouth opening and closing as his hand kind of went limp on his thigh, because really? He just couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that. In his own defence, he was really, _really_ drunk.

And now that he thought back on it, it was entirely possible that he _hadn’t_ been doing it right. Because when Dean heaved a put upon sigh, rolled his eyes, and said, “I’ll show you”, when Dean reached over to grab his cock and pump it through his fist, it was about a million times better than Sam’s own hand.

It wasn’t nearly as weird as they thought it would have been the next morning, when they finally sobered up and realised what they’d done. Just kind of… sticky. So two weeks later they’d done it again.

And again, and again.

Dean did finally come down to the car almost ten minutes later and Sam was silently seething by that point. That was more than long enough for Dean to have fucked the girl, considering what a quick draw he could be when he needed to. Again, not that Sam was jealous. And not that Sam cared who Dean did or didn’t fuck most times, but he was in agony here, for Christ’s sake!

He frowned and poked his wrist just to make sure it was still tender. It was. Good.

He just hadn’t gotten any in a while, hadn’t been with another person in way too long, hadn’t even had _Dean’s_ hands on him in weeks. He was frustrated and antsy, sore. He was tired of being bossed around and cast aside so Dean could get his rocks off with some anonymous woman while Sam beat off to cheap motel porn.

Besides, his beating off wrist was aching, so Dean kind of owed him. And it wouldn’t exactly kill the guy to help him out tonight.

They were both quiet on the drive, Sam barely glancing at Dean and pretending to be thoroughly engrossed in hitting random buttons on his cell phone. Dean eyed Sam occasionally, but eventually turned up the music, singing along with the chorus. He was horrible. A truly horrible singer, but Sam felt the corner of his mouth tug into the beginnings of a smile anyway.

He loved it when Dean sang.

He swallowed the smile down, though and scowled harder. He was pissed off, he didn’t want to forget that. He stared down at the screen on his phone - _No More Moves_ it told him, mocking him with lines of brightly glowing jewels in a rainbow of colours. He shut it off and slid it into his coat pocket. They were already pulling into the motel parking lot, anyway.

Dean let them inside their room with his key and when the door shut behind Sam he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on a chair.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he asked, turning around to face Sam. The sudden words caught Sam off guard after the previous silence and he startled, staring at Dean dumbly. “I know your uterus must be going through a lot right now, but you totally fucking cock blocked me!”

“What? No I didn’t!” Sam protested, snarling and shaking his head as he took his own coat off and placed it over Dean’s. He totally had, but he didn’t need to admit it out loud. “I got my ass kicked tonight while you cozied up to your lay of the week, and I… my wrist,” he said, and it sounded kind of pathetic, even to his own ears. 

“Right,” Dean said, smirking. He took a few steps closer to Sam, invading his personal space unapologetically. “Your wrist is fine, Sammy.”

“No,” Sam corrected, frowning at Dean. He wasn’t going to let him off the hook this quickly. “My wrist _would_ have been fine, if you’d been more interested in stopping that ghost than you were in getting your dick wet.”

Dean’s grin broadened, and Sam shifted uncomfortably.

“What?” he asked, and his eyes moved down to Dean’s mouth, watched him lick his lips.

“You’re jealous,” Dean informed him, sounding much too sure of himself. God, sometimes Sam wanted to hit him.

“No, I’m not,” Sam said, because no, he wasn’t.

“You know you don’t have to be.”

“Good,” Sam snapped, short and tight. He turned around, ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He sighed and turned back. “Because I’m not.”

Okay, so maybe he _was_.

Dean just raised an eyebrow and fuck, hadn’t he done that enough tonight already? Because Sam was seriously getting sick of it. And it wasn’t a turn on. At all.

Dean leaned in just that little bit more, closed the distance between them to put his chest flush against Sam’s and kept on smiling. Dean’s hand shot out, grabbed Sam’s shoulder tight and slammed him back against the wall, hard. Before Sam was able to recover the breath that had been forced out of him, Dean spun them around so their positions were reversed, Dean flat against the wall with Sam standing in front of him.

Sam took advantage of it, pressed in close to Dean, hands on Dean’s biceps and the front of his body pressed to his brother. He tilted his pelvis so the hard outline of his cock snuggled up close against the hollow of Dean’s hip.

He hissed, bared his teeth and Dean snickered. The fucker. 

“No, little brother,” he said. Sam almost didn’t notice, through the fog of his own arousal, that he sounded a little breathless. “Obviously not jealous at all.”

“You’re an asshole, Dean,” Sam groused. The side of his face was pressed to Dean’s, stubble rubbing rough on Sam’s smooth jaw. His hips bucked forward and to the side, his stiff dick mashing up against Dean’s growing erection.

Dean barked out a laugh and Sam felt his body relax immediately, watched him lean back against the wall and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He grinned, lazily and squeezed his fingers around the sharp bone, putting a significant downward pressure on Sam. 

“Blow me,” he said. Sam sank to his knees, because yeah, okay. That was an idea he could get behind.

Except he wasn’t going to make this that easy on Dean. His fingers deftly worked Dean’s jeans open and pulled him out, curled into a fist to stroke him, slowly. Dean let out a few low, enthusiastic grunts and then cursed when Sam stopped, fingernails digging lightly into the bottom of his shaft.

“What’s the matter?” he taunted, leaning forward on his knees. His warm, moist breath came out in soft puffs over the head of Dean’s prick and he smiled when Dean’s eyes fluttered shut and he pushed forward into the phantom sensation. “Your pretty little fuck not quite enough for you tonight?”

Sam knew Dean hadn’t actually gotten anywhere with Robin, not after so short a time, but it was still a dick move on Dean’s part, making Sam do all the work and then trying to ditch him after. 

“Dude,” Dean gasped when Sam’s tongue licked a slow swipe over his cockhead. “You’re…” he sucked in a deep breath, let it out again. “Such a little _bitch_. I was only up there for two freakin’ minutes! I didn’t fucking fuck her.”

“You were up there for at least ten minutes, Dean,” Sam told him. He opened his mouth to suck in the first few inches of Dean, swirled his tongue around the tip before pulling back. “That’s enough time to fuck her twice. For you, anyway.”

“What the fuck do I look like, asshat?” Dean snapped. “I’m not gonna give the poor girl a quick fuck over her kitchen table while you’re waiting downstairs with your _supposedly_ broken wrist!”

“Sprained,” Sam corrected and took Dean into his mouth as far as he could.

Any protest Dean might have had about Sam’s wrist not being either one – and they both knew it – died on his lips, as Sam’s lips pressed tight around his shaft. He hollowed his cheeks as he sucked, hard and Dean cried out, hands clenching and then opening, flat palms smacking into the wall behind him.

“Fuck, Sam,” he gasped. One hand came forward, sliding around the back of Sam’s head, his fingers weaving through Sam’s hair. Too long, Dean would say. _Had_ said, plenty of times, but Sam knew he was full of shit. Dean loved his hair. Loved to play with it when they did this almost as much as he loved to make fun of it.

Dean’s fingers tightened and he flexed his arm, pulling Sam closer, shoving himself deeper down Sam’s throat. It wasn’t the first time, but Sam still wasn’t exactly practiced at this and he gagged a little, coughed and sputtered, but tried his damnedest to give Dean what he needed.

He relaxed his throat, dropped his jaw. He swallowed, over and over, the head of Dean’s cock mashing and bruising the back of his throat. He jacked the lower half of Dean’s dick with his hand, smeared his saliva around to ease the way. There wasn’t a lot of finesse, but he knew Dean didn’t exactly need it. Dean was more a _do it yourself_ kind of guy when it came to this anyway, so Sam tended to let him set the pace, let him take what he wanted and get it over with as quickly as possible.

He let Dean move, let him rock back and forth, short little jerks of his hips, pistoning his cock in and out of Sam’s lax mouth. He did his best to create a tight ring with his lips for Dean, give him some friction, some pressure. This might not be Sam’s favourite way to pass the time, but it wasn’t _horrible_. Besides, it would be his turn soon enough.

It didn’t last long, anyway. Not when Dean had been needing to get off pretty much all night, all that laying the groundwork with Robin for nothing. Sam smiled around Dean’s dick when he thought about that. Not that he’d really wanted to stop his brother from getting laid, but he was selfish enough to think that it was better it happened with him, because at least that way Sam got in on some of the fun, too.

Any other day, if Sam was in any other mood, he truly wouldn’t have minded.

It was all too soon for Dean, and just soon enough for Sam (because while he enjoyed being the source of Dean’s pleasure, he hated giving head), that Dean swore, dug his nails into the back of Sam’s skull and jerked his hips forward gracelessly, shooting his load over Sam’s tongue and down his throat. Sam swallowed him down – because he knew Dean liked that – and tried not to gag. It really was pretty fucking gross. But he took it like a champ and the second he felt Dean stop pulsing in his mouth he pulled back, stood up and went to the kitchenette, grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge and twisted the cap off, took a large swig to wash the taste of Dean’s jizz out of his mouth.

He took a deep breath after he’d finished almost half the bottle in one gulp, then placed it down on the counter before moving over to his bed. He stripped his pants and underwear off, and flopped down onto it, hands behind his head on the pillows with his knees slightly bent, long legs splayed out.

“My turn,” he said, eyes narrowed at Dean. “And you better make it good, jerk.”

Dean scowled at him, but kicked out of his boots and pants, fixed his boxers back up around his waist. He tucked his softening cock back inside them, and stalked across the room towards his brother. Sam knew Dean didn’t really like giving head any more than he did, but he also knew that wouldn’t stop him. The transition from hand jobs to blow jobs had been a little more awkward than the slide into touching each other in the naughty places to begin with, but they’d both done it, because they both liked having it done to them, and it seemed… fair.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Dean said, lips tight. He climbed onto the bed and set himself up between Sam’s slightly spread legs and he pushed them further apart, up a little. The position left Sam a little more exposed than he was strictly comfortable with, but Sam didn’t stop him. If Dean was going to give him head, Sam wasn’t going to do anything that might get in the way of that. Dean obviously needed some kind of upper hand, even if it was imagined.

Dean’s fingers closed around his thighs, nails digging tight into the skin, breaking the first couple of layers. It wasn’t enough to make him bleed, but it smarted like fuck and there would definitely be marks for days. Sam kind of liked it, but to be honest, he’d have liked it better if Dean’s nails broke right through, left tiny, crescent shaped pools of blood on his skin.

Hey, Sam never claimed not to be seriously fucked up.

And the thing about Sam, was that he wasn’t into guys. Or, he’d never been into them before Dean. He’d always gone for smaller girls, not always short, but definitely slim, delicate, girls that wanted him to pick them up with one arm and hold them down with the weight of his body. But he couldn’t deny that he kind of got off on Dean’s size, his strength, the fact that with Dean, he wasn’t always the one in control.

Sam’s head was already thrown back, so there wasn’t much more room to manoeuvre when Dean opened his mouth wide, and sucked him all the way down in one quick movement. Sam did cry out though, thrashed his head from side to side at the first ecstasy-inducing touches. God. Dean wasn’t exactly good at this, but he was a lot better than Sam’s own right hand. 

It didn’t hurt that Dean looked at giving head like he looked at most things: like a competition, always determined to be better at it than Sam was.  
.  
And Sam was feeling damn grateful that Dean wasn’t as practised at this as he claimed to be in the rest of his sexual experience, because Sam kind of wanted this to last. Wanted to keep his brother between his legs for as long as he possibly could.

It was awesome, despite Dean’s lack of experience and it was better than anyone else doing this for him, because this was Dean. His big brother, inarguable ladies man, face down in his crotch, and pulling his dick into his mouth like he was sucking on the world’s tastiest popsicle. It was heady, Sam loved it and he wanted it to last for fucking ever.

And yeah, Sam wasn’t much gayer than Dean was (which wasn’t very gay at all) but he had to admit that Dean looked hot like that. Prettiest fucking mouth he’d ever seen in his entire life. Also, there was a perverse little thrill that Sam got from making Dean do something he knew he didn’t like to do, something all for Sam. Served him right being such a cocky jerk most of the time.

Dean was working so damn hard at it and Sam couldn’t hide a smile. It was a good thing Dean’s attention was elsewhere, because if Dean had seen it he probably would have bit him or something. And that would have totally ruined the mood. 

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath, because if he kept looking at Dean like that, this was going to be over a lot quicker than he wanted. Some of the tension went out of his muscles as he forced himself to relax and Dean must have felt it, because he grunted in irritation around Sam’s dick and picked up the pace. He sucked harder and his hands moved down to grip the base of Sam’s cock, cup his balls and squeeze. 

Sam just smiled and licked his lips, let his fingers play absently over the scratchy wool of the bedspread and held back. He was in this for the long haul tonight.

Sam didn’t have sex very often and when he jerked off, or when he was with Dean, it was usually pretty quick. Usually just a minute and a half in the shower or forty five seconds up against the wall with Dean’s hand down his pants. Usually just fast and dirty and perfunctory, out of necessity more than anything else, but not tonight. 

He could last a damn long time when he wanted to. Once, back when he was at Stanford and he hadn’t made any friends yet and he had an entire Friday night to kill and all his homework had been finished the night before? He spent three solid hours jerking off. Seriously, _three hours_. So yeah, Sam could make it last.

And the frustrated breaths coming from Dean’s nose as he worked, really made want to.

Dean’s fist curled tighter around his balls, then loosened. He rolled them gently in his palm, adding yet more stimulation to try to push Sam over the edge as quickly as he could, but it had the opposite effect. It didn’t turn Sam off, far from it, but it sort of made things even less urgent. The sucking and the licking and the rolling melded together into one big, pleasurable sensation, one that he could be happy to ride out for hours if necessary, knowing that when it was over his orgasm would be well worth the wait.

He moaned, pushed his hips up lazily to imply that Dean should just go on doing exactly what he was doing and he let himself fall into a kind of daze, forced himself to relax and just enjoy the moment. The moment stretched. And stretched some more. And Sam wasn’t feeling any urgency, wasn’t feeling much at all besides _warm_ and _good_ and _light_.

It was Sam putting all those mediation classes he’d taken with Jess to good use, it was gravity losing it’s pull and letting Sam float away. It was only the occasional sharp pinch of Dean’s fingers on his sac, or the less than gentle scrape of teeth that kept him grounded.

Dean’s efforts, clumsy as they mostly were with Sam, usually met with much better results.

When Dean finally got fed up enough to pull off his cock, the stale air of the motel room feeling cool on his wet skin, the clock on the table next to the bed told Sam that over half an hour had passed. Wow. He honestly hadn’t expected Dean to go so long without complaining. He was half expecting him to give up after five minutes and tell Sam to finish it off himself.

“For fuck’s sake, Sammy,” Dean grumbled, and Sam felt him lean his head against Sam’s thigh. “My jaw is gettin’ sore here!”

“Hmmm,” Sam muttered, a lazy sound half way between an agreement and a question, like he wasn’t even paying attention. He shifted his hips slightly to make himself even more comfortable on the bed. He was feeling pretty damn blissed and he just wanted his brother’s mouth back on his cock. He honestly thought he could really do this all night.

He moved one of his hands to the back of Dean’s head and clumsily urged him forward again, but Dean’s hand came up off Sam’s balls to swat it away.

“Seriously?” he asked. “Fuck, dude, I’m not gonna do this all night. I know you’re holding back. So hurry the fuck up, or I’ll leave your ass like this.” He flicked the head of Sam’s erection with his middle finger for emphasis, and Sam winced.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam said, but his voice was kind of soft and subdued, like he wasn’t really completely there. And he kind of wasn’t. He was feeling _so fucking good_ and he just wanted to keep feeling like this. Forever, if possible. “Don’t be a cocktease.”

“A cock…” Dean started, then trailed off, unable to even finish the word in association with himself. Sam grinned, picturing the look on Dean’s face, but kept his eyes closed. It would be over too soon if he looked down at Dean again. 

Within seconds his dick was back inside his brother’s mouth, just like Sam knew it would be. Because Dean was bluffing, there was no way in hell he’d leave Sam like this. For starters, Dean had manners. He’d never leave _any_ lover like this. He wouldn’t be able to hack the guilt. Also, Dean would never let his pride be wounded by failing to get someone off.

He worked even harder than before, licking his tongue along the underside of Sam’s cock, putting just the right amount of pressure on the vein, sucking for just long enough and just hard enough and then stopping the suction in favour of swallowing around the head. His hand was back on Sam’s balls, and then up his shaft, sliding into his mouth slightly at times as he bobbed up and down, and damn, yeah, that kind of thing was likely to get Sam to orgasm quicker than he’d wanted.

He was starting to tense up again, the lazy pleasure being replaced by something more demanding. His body wanting release desperately, but he still fought it.

He would have been happy to _go on_ fighting it for as long as he could, but then Dean’s spit-slick fingers moved down his shaft, over his balls. Past them, and they kept on going. Sam froze, sucked in a breath and Dean didn’t even pause. He just shoved one slick finger straight up his ass, all the way to the last knuckle and he wiggled it around.

Sam’s mouth flew open and he bent his knees even more, put his feet flat on the bed and pushed up, trying to get away from the invasion. It was weird, foreign and strange but not entirely unpleasant. Which was a damn good thing, since his attempt to get Dean’s finger _out of his ass_ didn’t work. 

Dean’s hand just followed him when he moved, but he did manage to push his cock further down Dean’s throat. All in all, not such a bad turn of events. When Dean’s finger angled forward at the same time as he gagged, throat clenching involuntarily around Sam’s cockhead, he moaned happily and his body fell back to the bed, lax and lazy.

Dean took the opportunity to work in a second finger and he sucked even harder around Sam’s cock. 

Sam honestly hadn’t been expecting anything like… like _that_. They’d never even so much as hinted that either of them might it, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it might have been. It was actually kind of _good_ , in a weird sort of way. Madison had sort of done it to him that one time they had together, but she didn’t spend long enough on it for Sam to really develop any kind of appreciation.

He was starting to see the appeal now, though. Kind of good, in a way.

And then when Dean relaxed his jaw, sucked him down as far as he could and crooked his fingers in just the right way, it was _really_ good, in _every_ sort of way.

A few more bobs of Dean’s head on his cock, strokes of fingers inside his ass and Sam was gone. Of course, it didn’t help that the second his brother touched his hole, Sam’s eyes had shot open and they’d been glued to Dean’s lips and fucking hell, those lips wrapped around his cock was far and away the hottest thing Sam had ever seen. There was no defense against that.

“Fuck, fuck, _shit_ , Dean!” he panted, rocked his hips forward and back, into Dean’s mouth and back onto his fingers and his whole body seized. His muscles clenched _so fucking tight_ and then he was coming, pulse after pulse into Dean’s mouth and his brother swallowed it all down, seemed almost eager and didn’t spill a drop. 

And that made Sam come even harder, made him jack forward, want to drive so far inside his brother that he’d shoot straight into his belly.

It seemed like it lasted much longer than it actually did, but when his orgasm finally ended he collapsed back onto the bed, panting hard and running his fingers through Dean’s short hair playing with the lightly gelled spikes. Dean pulled back quickly, let Sam pet him for a few seconds, but then sat up straight, pushed at Sam’s leg to make room and flopped down on the bed next to him.

“Fuck,” Sam said, breathless and reverent. “That was… fucking amazing!”

“Well don’t sound so fucking surprised,” Dean grumbled and elbowed Sam in the side. “And don’t count on any more blow jobs for at least a month.”

“Hmmm,” Sam answered, absently. His fingers danced lightly across the skin of his belly, completely unconcerned. He didn’t believe Dean for a second. Dean liked getting blown himself too much to cut Sam off for that long.

He made a sort of unhappy growling noise and gave Sam a shove for good measure, before he sat up and pushed himself up off the bed. “Whatever. Bitch,” he said and headed into the bathroom.

Sam smiled, closed his eyes and let himself start to drift off.

“Jerk,” he mumbled, just before he heard the bathroom door close and he drifted to the sound of the shower spray raining down over his brother.

END


	2. Fuck Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam take the next step in their non-gay non-relationship. It's a good thing they can both be such assholes sometimes, or that shut might get awkward.

It had been a slow week, for them. They’d only managed to find two jobs and they’d been pretty easy work, both wrapped up in less than two days, so they’d spent the day in between jobs, as well as the past two, doing pretty much nothing.

They’d been checking the internet and the newspapers every once in a while, but so far nothing had come up that looked like it might be their kind of thing. Sam didn’t really mind so much, liked the occasional slow spells, he said. He could spend the time catching up on sleep, read something for _pleasure_ for a change and maybe even catch a movie.

Dean didn’t mind it either. He figured they deserved a little fun time in between risking their lives, so he got them a motel room, a case of beer and two large pizzas. They spent the first night just kicking back, watched some television. They’d even broken out a deck of cards and Dean laughed out loud when Sam lost the last of pepperoni to Dean on a spectacularly horrible hand.

They couldn’t afford to get too lazy, though, so the next day they went out to abandoned saw mill to practice their aim and spar a little. It also never hurt to be practical, so they put in a couple of hours after supper to hustle some pool and send in some credit card applications.

It used to make Sam feel guilty, stealing like that. God, those days were so long ago Dean hardly remembered them.

This morning Dean had lost at rock paper scissors, so he’d spent most of the afternoon at the Laundromat, while Sam sat on his ass back at the motel. Probably drinking all of Dean’s beer and watching football, the lazy bitch. Fucking scissors. Next time, Dean was going to throw paper. No really, he was.

He got back a little after six, with two bags of clean clothes and supper from the diner. He managed to catch the last quarter of the game, to see one team he didn’t really keep track of beat another team that he was pretty sure was made up. Dean was really more of a baseball guy.

Once the game was over and their food was finished, Sam flipped idly through the channels, and not so subtly settled on some soft core porn. There was a pretty hefty collection of empty bottles littering the floor and side table between their beds at that point. He half shrugged to himself and tossed the remote down on the bed next to him.

Yeah, Sam could play that ‘there’s nothing else on’ card if it made him feel better, but Dean saw the way he’d flown past a pretty awesome looking documentary about blowing shit up. This was calculated. Sammy wanted some action.

“Really, Sam?” Dean asked, grinning wide. Sam turned to look at him, chin raised and eyes slightly widened. His ‘who me?’ face. Cute, but Dean wasn’t falling for it. “’Cause, I know your moves need work, but… really?” 

Falling into getting each other off was usually a pretty easy thing, just a matter of a word or a touch when one of them felt the itch. They hadn’t needed porn to get them there since the first time.

“Screw you,” Sam said, scowling. His face turned a slight shade of red and Dean snickered. They didn’t do this often, but when they did Sam wasn’t usually so shy. Maybe the poor guy had been shot down trying to pick up some pretty girl at a snooty café this afternoon and he was feeling all timid and delicate. It was kind of an amusing thought. “You wanna, or what?”

That was more like it. Had a little more asshole in it that most of his propositions, but not much. A typical overture would usually consist of one or the other of them making a grab for the other’s junk and raising a questioning eyebrow, but that was okay.

Neither of them kept coming back because of the sweet seduction, or romantic pillow talk. They did it because they needed to get off, plain and simple. And somebody’s touch besides your own was nice. Even if that touch came from a dude. Who was your brother. It wasn’t like they exchanged slow, sweet kisses and held hands. It was just beating off, maybe the occasional blow job.

And with the mood Dean had been in lately, he sure as hell wasn’t gonna turn down the offer. Especially since he sort of had something else in mind for this time. It might take a delicate touch, but after the last time he blew Sam, he was pretty sure Sam would go for it.

“You know, with lines like that, I’m surprised you don’t get laid more often, Sammy,” he said, still smiling.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam shot back. He was actually starting to smile too now, their usual banter helping to loosen things up. If they were kind of dicks to each other when they did this, it made gagging on each other’s cocks feel a lot less gay. They very carefully avoided the topic altogether of the fact they were _brothers_. Even Dean wasn’t twisted enough to touch that one. “Didn’t realise all that cock-sucking had turned you into a woman. You want me to go get you some flowers?”

Dean snickered and Sam’s grin widened. 

A loud groan from the television drew their attention back to it and they watched for a few minutes, as a busty brunette bounced around on top of some overly-muscled, extremely lucky guy, her fake tits holding their perfect shape even as they jiggled.

After a really bad cut to a scene of the girl on her back, with her legs slung up over the guys shoulders, Dean cleared his throat and looked over at Sam.

“So, I’ve been thinkin’,” he said.

“I wondered what that smell was.”

“Funny,” Dean said, voice dripping sarcasm. “No, I mean… I haven’t gotten laid in a while. And I mean a _while_.”

“Yeah, what’s it been now?” Sam asked, glancing at the clock on the table and then back to Dean. “A few hours?”

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a small huff of breath. Okay, so he had spent an hour hitting on a blonde with a phenomenal ass while waited for Sam’s delicates to finish drying. He’d even managed to get a kiss out of her behind the row of dryers, but she’d left before he was finished and she hadn’t given him her number. He’d been half hard since about four o’clock. 

“You do bitchy so well, Sammy. Just because you can’t manage to get any, don’t go taking it out on the one who got all the looks and charm in the family.” He shot Sam a wink and ignored his snort of disagreement. “No, I’m talkin’, like, months.”

Four months, to be more precise. It had been almost four months. He’d been with Sam since then, but what they did was just enough to take the edge off, or to come down from the high of a hunt, or when they got really, really bored. 

And it was mostly enough to get by on, but random, incestuous, gay hand jobs weren’t exactly Earth shattering. Dean wanted to actually, really get inside somebody, instead of just having Sam’s hand perfunctorily pulling him until he came all over his pants. Not that Sam’s mouth wasn’t great on the rare occasions that he got to use it, but he wanted more.

He wanted to feel someone around him, underneath him, body to body. Dean liked sex, liked everything that went along with sex and he _missed_ it.

“Aww, Poor Dean,” Sam teased. Hell, Dean knew it had been even longer since Sam had gotten any. “Losing your charm in your old age? Or just batting out of your league by hitting on girls with brains?”

Dean just barely resisted sticking his tongue out and the fact that he didn’t have some sort of snarky comment made Sam frown. He actually looked at Dean, studied the tight line of Dean’s shoulders and the slightly nervous way he bit his bottom lip.

“I think we should fuck,” he said. Okay, forget about the delicate touch. Sam would probably respond better to blatancy anyway.

Sam’s eyes went comically wide and choked on a sip of his beer, sputtering and slapping at his chest once before he managed to speak. Yeah, maybe not the reaction Dean had been going for.

“You mean like..” Sam started and then paused. He shook his head and licked his lips. “Like actually….”

“Fuck?” Dean supplied, with an amused smirk. “Yeah.”

“Dean, just… No,” Sam said. His voice was higher than normal, a slightly incredulous edge, like he was starting to panic. Which was really pretty funny, when Dean thought about it. Sure, Dean was trying to play this a lot cooler than he actually felt, because even though he wanted sex (fuck, did he ever want sex) this was still _Sam_ he was talking about having sex with.

His fucking _brother_.

And that was… weird. And kind of uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than the first time they’d discussed the possibility of blow jobs. Only that time, it had been Sam pushing for it. Of course, that had been because Sam hadn’t had one since he was like, nineteen or something – and okay, so maybe Dean was exaggerating – but Sam had really needed one. 

And now Dean was the one going crazy from all those months without a lay. Now _he_ was the desperate one. He silently cursed Sam and his unbelievable ability to go so long without. He was like some sort of… of sex camel or something. Which… yeah, was a pretty disturbing thought, so he just stopped it right there.

“Why not?” he asked Sam, even as he mentally asked himself the same question. Why was this next step such a big deal? They’d already done just about everything else and it wasn’t like it ever meant anything besides a good time.

“Because we aren’t gay, Dean!” Sam practically shouted. “And we’re… You’re my _brother_.” Yeah, okay, so there was that. Still…

“And that’s stopped us from, oh, everything else?”

“Yeah, but…” Sam protested weakly. His eyebrows pulled together tightly and he let out a breath. Okay, good sign. He might actually be thinking this over, instead of just dismissing the idea.

“Oh, come on,” Dean said, pressing his slight advantage. “You liked it when I had my fingers up there, didn’t ya?”

Sure, that had only happened once. It had been months ago and neither one of them had made any move to try anything like that since, but Dean knew damn well that Sam had enjoyed it. Hell, he’d even admitted that it had been ‘awesome’. His exact word.

Sam blushed an even deeper shade of red than before and Dean smirked, got up off his bed and sat down on Sam’s. He leaned into Sam’s space and cut off any possible denial with a solid grip on Sam’s crotch. Sam sucked in a sharp breath and jerked his hips forward against Dean’s hand, cock growing solid and huge under Dean’s touch. 

He let out a low groan and threw his head back when Dean’s fingers squeezed. With a satisfied grin, Dean flicked open the button on Sam’s pants, dug his fingers into the waistband and pulled them down and off, along with his underwear.

He discarded them casually on the floor as he stood, worked quickly to strip himself from the waist down and then got back on the bed. Sam was watching him now, mouth lax and eyes hooded and Dean’s hand went straight for Sam’s cock again, draping himself over Sam’s body.

No, it wasn’t suave or seductive, but he didn’t need to use his best moves on Sam. He was pretty much a sure thing.

Dean chanced a look up at Sam’s face to find Sam looking right back. Dean opened his mouth, mostly just to break the awkwardness of the moment, but nothing came out. They didn’t do this, didn’t look at each other when they fooled around. They didn’t want to have to face the fact that it was _real_.

They were Winchesters. Denial was a way of life.

And then Dean remembered the television, the blessed distraction of porn and he turned his head, Sam following suit.

The porn was… bad. That same horrible actress, with the same horribly fake tits was still on the screen and it was a damn good thing she was hot, or Dean would have had to look away. 

Dean clenched his fist tighter, shifted so he was resting on the mattress between Sam’s legs and he set up a steady rhythm, stroking Sam’s cock to the beat of their breathing, in time with slap of sex on the television. Sam picked up the rhythm pretty quickly, jerking Dean at the same time. They didn’t bother to draw it out, steadily increasing speed until they were both on the brink, ready to come in under two minutes.

Typical, really and not bad at all. But, Dean still had his heart set on more. He took a deep breath and went for it.

His fingers drifted a little lower on his down stroke, tickling over Sam’s balls. They were full to his touch, higher than normal and tight. He was close. Good. That was what Dean had been waiting for.

He pulled his hand away, sliding it over Sam’s hip briefly before tapping it lightly with his fingers. He looked Sam in the eye when he gave him a little shove and ordered, “Turn over.”

“What? No,” Sam said, slightly bewildered and off balance from arousal. He shook his head. “Dean, we’re not gonna…”

Dean shrugged and sat up straight, took hold of his own cock and started pumping. “Suit yourself,” he said.

He knew Sam could see through him. Sam could _always_ see through him. And yeah, he’d settle for hand jobs if that was all he could get, but he was really hoping for more.

“Dean,” Sam nearly whined. He looked at Dean’s hand moving over his own prick with something like longing. Oh yeah, Dean thought. Almost there. “Don’t be such a baby. Just because I won’t…” 

He suddenly cut himself off, face hardening as he looked straight at Dean. “And hey! Who the hell says that I’m the one who has to… Why do it have to be me who… Not that, you know… we’re gonna,” 

“You know, normally I’d tell if you can’t say it you shouldn’t do it,” Dean said, rolling his hips forward slowly, dragging his cock up along Sam’s hip. Sam shuddered and Dean smiled. “But in this case? I really _really_ think you should do it.”

“I’ve never…”

“Obviously. So? First time for everything, right?”

“Are you fuckin’… You’re high, right?” Sam asked, mockingly grasping at straws. “Or possessed?”

“Fuck, Sam, don’t be such a pussy. It’s just sex,” Dean told him. “Besides, I blew you first when you asked, so it’s your turn now.”

Sam’s expression changed at the word ‘first’, like Dean was hoping it would. He knew exactly what Sam was thinking, because it was the same thing Dean had been thinking when Sam was trying to convince him that his cock would taste like cherry pie. Go down first and it’s your turn next. It was always how they operated. Quid pro quo has always worked well for them.

Reciprocity was implied, it was just a matter of who was willing to bite the bullet first.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Sam offered, mouth curved in a hopeful half-smile.

“Dude, I’m not an idiot,” Dean said. Or, at least he wasn’t enough of one to fall for that twice in one day.

They could both count on one hand the number of times in their entire lives that Dean had won at the game. At first, when they were younger, Dean had lost on purpose. It was how he let his little brother get his way, how me made it look like he was pandering or giving in. It was how he cheated at playing fair, how he made it look like Sam had won something, earned the front seat or the last bowl of Lucky Charms, fair and square.

Sam had caught on, after a while. He’d gotten angry, told Dean he didn’t want to win like that, didn’t want a pity victory, but now it was different. Now, Sam didn’t seem to mind taking advantage. Now, Dean was pretty sure the reason he lost all the time was muscle memory, learned behaviour after years of condition, like throwing a knife or blocking a punch.

Because 99.9% of the time, on that third count, Dean threw scissors. And sometimes he was honestly surprised that he had, like he hadn’t meant to but there it was anyway.

So no. No way was he stupid enough to play that game when his ass, literally, was on the line. Sam was just gonna have to do this his way, this time.

“Fine,” Sam relented, after several agonising seconds. Dean let out a sigh of relief and his heart kicked back into it’s regular beat. He’d actually thought Sam was going to tell him to fuck off for a minute there. Call his bluff and leave Dean to get himself off. 

“Just…” Sam sighed and pursed his lips, looked down at his hands. They were resting on the bed just next to hips, showing off his rapidly dwindling erection.

“Aww, don’t worry, sweetie pie,” Dean said, grinning at Sam’s nervousness. He moved to lie down next to Sam again, ran a hand down over Sam’s ribs to cup his hipbone. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Dude… fuck you. I can still stop this, you know?”

Dean looked pointedly at Sam’s cock, grabbed it tight in his hand and squeezed, moving his hand up and down. He slowly teased it back to full hardness, Sam’s soft pants and groans sliding out over his ear.

It didn’t take long before Sam was once again thrusting up into his grip and Dean didn’t want to waste any more time, didn’t want to give his brother any more chance to change his mind. He gave Sam a nudge, gentle like he promised.

“Ugh, I hate you,” Sam groaned, turning over willingly with the help of Dean’s hand on his side.

Dean snickered, ducking his face into the back of Sam’s neck.

“No, you don’t. Trust me, Sammy. Okay?”

Sam nodded, stilted and jerky and he rolled flat onto his front. Only the hard, tense line of his back muscles gave away his apprehension and Dean slid a comforting hand over the small of Sam’s back. He pressed in gently, rubbed two soothing circles and Sam let out a breath, let go of his tension and relaxed into the bed.

Wow, okay. That was kind of easier than he’d thought. He knew Sam trusted him, but… damn. Honestly, he was kind of disappointed. There’d been a part of him that was hoping for a struggle, hoping to make this a little… rough and tumble.

Oh well. He could do slow and easy. Hell, he was _made_ for slow and easy.

He helped lift Sam up, a hand on his stomach, another one guiding his left leg. He let go once Sam was on his hands and knees, Dean pressed up flush to the backs of his thighs. Dean bucked his hips and he sucked in a sharp breath when his cock slid between Sam’s ass cheeks. Shit. _Shit_ Sam felt good, tucked up against him.

And he really did have a nice ass. Or, you know, that’s what Dean would think if he was gay. And hot for his brother ( _brother_ , Jesus, get a grip). Which he wasn’t. But from a strictly objective point of view, Sam’s ass was just begging to be worshipped and caressed and stuffed full.

“That’s it, little brother,” he said, patting the side of Sam’s ass with the tips of three fingers. “Just like that.”

“Ngh,” Sam grunted, shifting a little underneath Dean. “Hurry up. Fuck, Dean if you want to do this, you better fucking hurry up.”

“Easy,” Dean warned, coaxing him back down with a comforting hand between his shoulders.

He had lube and condoms, but they were all the way across the room in his bag. He didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to give Sam that time to change his mind. Besides, Sam was a big boy. He could take a little discomfort. As long as Dean went slow, they didn’t need that shit. Dean once fucked a girl like this – his third time _ever_ getting laid and she was older, more experienced and she talked him through it.

Dad would have killed him if he’d admitted to not using protection, but a shitload of pre-come and slow, easy thrusts made it more than doable.

He brought one hand to his mouth as Sam crouched into position in front of him. His cock gave a very interested twitch, a small smear of pearly fluid leaking from the tip. Good, he could use that. He used his other hand to press again on Sam’s lower back, a demand for compliance mixed with comfort as he pushed down slightly, encouraging Sam to bend further, to arch his back so his ass tipped up, reaching the prefect, inviting angle.

He used the middle finger of his spit-slick hand to slide up and down the crack of Sam’s ass, pulling in the barest hiss of appreciative breath when Sam tensed and then relaxed, tilted his hips up more, and made a more focussed effort to breath.

Dean didn’t bother waiting after the first sign of acquiescence, just slid the finger inside. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before and Sam didn’t seem to mind, just made a soft sound below him, shimmied a little. Dean quickly followed it up by pressing in another two fingers, at the same time.

That got a hiss out of Sam and he shifted forward a little, almost pulling away. 

“Shit, Dean, watch it,” he scolded. Dean snickered, because on top of being hotter than fuck, this shit was pretty funny. 

And it was a damn good thing, because sticking his fingers up his brother’s ass, getting ready to fuck him, would be _way_ too messed up, if there wasn’t a certain amount of humour to take his mind off it.

Dean wiggled his fingers around, crooking them forward, which got him a pleasant sort of hum in response. He spread them wide, earning him a pained sounding grunt. After almost a minute (which Dean thought was being pretty damn generous), of twisting and pumping, Sam had stopped twitching and his breathing had evened out enough that Dean figured it was safe to move things along.

He didn’t want to cut the prep too short. That might decrease the chances of a repeat performance.

He pulled his fingers free, watching the way Sam’s hole closed up around the empty space and he swallowed, mouth going dry. Holy fucking shit, that was gonna be wrapped around his cock in a matter of seconds.

Without a word he grabbed tight hold of Sam’s hip and lined up behind him, pushed forward slowly, so fuckin’ slowly he thought he might bite clean through the lip he was worrying between his teeth. Once the head was fully inside he paused, traced his finger around Sam’s rim, red and tight and stretched around him. 

“You okay, Sammy?” he grunted out. He was having a damn hard time caring, one way or the other. His cock was warm and moist and there was delicious pressure surrounding him. He wanted nothing more than to let loose, fuck as hard and as fast as he could. He’d never had to hold back like this before and it was killing him.

“Fine, Dean,” Sam grit out through clenched teeth. Dean could feel Sam trembling slightly under him, trying his best to relax. “Just get on with it.”

“Oh, always you with the sweet talk,” Dean teased. He grinned to himself before he grabbed Sam’s other hip with his free hand and slammed all the way inside, balls slapping against Sam’s from behind.

“Jesus fuck, Dean!” Sam screamed and his entire body tensed. His shoulders pulled up tight around his ears and when he craned his neck to the side, Dean could see that he had his eyes squeezed shut and he was wincing. 

Fuck. Dean didn’t want to hurt Sam, he _really_ didn’t, but… But _god_ it felt so good.

He dragged his cock out slowly, watching carefully. He watched Sam’s rim as it pulled around him, groaned and forced himself to go slow, checking for any traces of blood. He didn’t see any. It might be uncomfortable (Dean knew first hand that it might be) but it wasn’t causing any damage. And it would get better soon enough.

He wanted to take it easy on Sam, but he didn’t need to baby him. Sam could take it.

He slowly pushed back in, flicking his hips at the last second and Sam let out a low moan. Definitely not the good kind. Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, grit his teeth.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked. He would, if he really had to. Probably.

“No, it’s…” Sam hissed. He broke off to cringe and dig his fingers deeper into the pillow. “It’s fine. Just… just take it easy for a minute, okay?”

“Big baby,” Dean muttered, but did as Sam asked. He made his next few thrusts shallow and soft, palm rubbing circles over Sam’s belly. Dean had slept with a few virgins over the years and he knew how to take it slow, let them get used to it, make it good. 

“Okay,” Sam said after a minute or two, his voice less strained and Dean could feel him actually starting loosen up under him, instead of just trying to. “It’s… better. It still fucking sucks,” he added. “But it’s better.”

Dean laughed and started to move a little faster, push in a little further. “Are you tryin’ to tell me I’m a lousy lay, Sammy?”

“Dean, I’m not even hard anymore!” Sam said. It was almost funny. He was actually fucking pouting, like his wilted erection was a toy Dean had taken away. God, Sam was adorable sometimes. “Like, at all.”

“Hey, that’s your problem, dude. I’m doin’ just fine over here.”

“Shit, you’re an asshole.”

Dean chuckled again and smoothed a hand across Sam’s flank, fingers curving around his hipbone and into the hollow. His fingertips brushed against Sam’s flaccid dick lightly and he asked, “No, seriously, Sammy. You want me to..?”

Sam shook his head. “No, don’t,” he said. “I’m good, I don’t need… Just hurry up and get it over with.”

“Whatever you say,” Dean told him and he did just that. 

It was over much too quickly for Dean, but he’d never been one to drag it out, not with Sam. This was one of those times he sort of wanted to, but Sam didn’t want to get off on it too, then it was probably better that it didn’t last.

When it was over he gave himself a few seconds, holding still, holding Sam still and catching his breath, his balance, his higher brain function. When he pulled free, it was with a deep, contented laugh and a sharp slap on Sam’s ass.

He fell to the bed next to his brother with a spent sigh, still panting slightly. 

“Holy shit, Sammy,” he said, when he could finally talk again. “We are definitely doing that again.”

Sam started to move next to him, pushing himself upright. He froze after a sharp bend, swore and moved in a different direction. He was more careful, slower, managed to shift onto his side and prop himself up with one arm. His legs rested slightly awkwardly on the floor, keeping any unnecessary pressure off his ass.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” he snapped. And yeah, okay, Dean just knew there was going to be bitching at some point. “Were you actually trying to _kill_ me?”

“You’re fine,” Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “Stop being such a little girl.”

“Whatever,” Sam said. He gestured at Dean’s hip with a floppy hand and nodded his head. “Your turn.”

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Dean asked, amused and not even bothering to hide his smile. “You might have some trouble. You’re not even hard, dude.”

“Yeah, well, getting split in two by your brother’s dick is kind of a mood killer.”

“Better luck next time, champ,” Dean told him, eyes twinkling and clicking his tongue.

“I hate you.”

“Nah, you love me,” Dean said and Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Now stop your cryin’ already, you big baby.”

He got up and started for the bathroom, back turned to Sam and when he was halfway there he could actually _feel_ Sam giving him the finger. “I saw that,” he told him happily, even though he hadn’t, not really.

He washed up quickly and came out a minute later with a warm wash cloth. He plopped down on the bed next to Sam, held it out and Sam just looked at him. Dean smirked, rolled his eyes and looked towards Sam’s ass. 

“Take it,” he said, pushing the cloth out again. “Might want to clean yourself up.”

Sam just _looked_ at him some more and Dean swallowed, forced his eyes to look forward, instead of skittering all over. He wasn’t nervous, damn it. This was _Sam_. 

Fuck, he should have tried harder. He could have made it _so much better_. Why hadn’t he made it better?

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Sam said and turned, hissing sharply and wincing when it was too fast, or too far, or too something that made him hurt all over again. He sighed in frustration and took a breath, but before he could move to try again, Dean put a hand on his chest and slowly pushed him back down on the bed.

“Give yourself a few minutes,” he told him. “It won’t be so bad in a bit.”

Sam looked at him like he didn’t quite believe him, but Dean remembered the first time a girl had used her fingers on him. He hadn’t been able to walk probably for the rest of the night and he’d felt it for _days_ afterwards. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to tell Sam that though.   
It’d be a lot funnier when he found out for himself.

“C’mon,” he said, putting a hand on Sam’s hip, gently encouraging him to move. “Roll over.”

Sam glared at him. 

“I am never fucking listening to you again, when you say those words to me.”

“Oh relax, dude. Not for that,” he told him. He waved the cloth in Sam’s face again.

“Fine,” Sam grudgingly agreed and he rolled, slowly.

Dean was careful when he cleaned him, noticing the slight twitches along Sam’s back and legs when he wiped around the tender hole. Dean’s spent cock gave an interested jolt at the sight, red and raw, with Dean’s come leaking out of it and down Sam’s legs.

He could probably get up for another round if he gave himself some time, but there was no way in hell Sam would even think about touching his dick at this point, so he filed the image away for later.

When he was done he tossed the cloth on the floor and curled up on the bed next to Sam. _Not_ spooning. Not. Mostly.

He slid a hand up and over the swell of Sam’s ass and Sam jerked, stilled and he forced out a breath. He wasn’t in any sort of pain, not from that touch, he just hadn’t been expecting it. Dean flinched anyway.

He moved his hand moved higher, under Sam’s shirt and over his back a few times and then around to his front, over his chest and stomach and lower. It was weird, this kind of lazy touching. Weird and new, but it didn’t feel bad, necessarily. Besides, he’d been kind of a dick. It was the least he could do.

“Dean, what are you..?”

“Shhh,” Dean hushed, cutting him off. “You put out so pretty for me sweetheart, I gotta give you something, don’t I?”

Sam shook his head, but Dean could hear him chuckle, felt his body jiggle slightly in his arms. He moved his hand the last half inch, cupped Sam’s cock. It wasn’t hard, but he hadn’t expected it to be. He teased it a little, gentle kneading and soft strokes of his fingers and Sam hissed again, only this time Dean knew it was from pleasure. Sam was starting to harden, grow under his touch.

Sam was pretty quiet throughout, didn’t move much, only let out a soft, high-pitched sigh when he spilled over Dean’s hand. Dean held onto him for another minute after he’d finished, ignoring the sticky, gross mess Sam left across his fingers. 

He let go once he felt Sam start to soften against his slippery fingers and he wiped his hand on Sam’s leg. He got most of the mess off, mess sticking to Sam’s leg hair and then he smacked Sam on the ass lightly, before he jumped up and headed for the bathroom.

He showered quickly and threw on a new pair of boxers. When he came back into the room Sam was sitting up on the edge of his bed with his legs spread, looking down in disgust at the last bits of Dean’s jizz trickling over his inner thighs.

Dean passed him on his way to his own bed and screwed up his face, sniffing at Sam. “Go shower,” he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. It took more effort that he’d thought it would, not to curl up next to Sam and soothe away his hurt. “You stink.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but stood, gingerly taking a step. “I swear to God, Dean,” he grumbled, crossing the room and not bothering to look back. “Next time, I’m _so_ making you my bitch.”


	3. Kiss Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean didn’t think having sex with his brother could get any more gay. Apparently, he underestimated what a girl Sam can be. Sam wants to get back at Dean for last time, but his turn on top doesn’t go exactly as he’d planned.

In the wake of Sam’s one and only experience so far with anal sex, Sam made Dean suck his dick. A lot. Like, every other day or so, for almost a month. He didn’t return the favour, either. Didn’t even offer him a hand job afterward, just tucked himself back in and reached for the remote, or opened up his laptop. The first few times Dean didn’t complain, just raised an eyebrow, then smiled and shook his head. Figured he deserved it, so he’d either take care of himself or he wouldn’t.

After a while though, Dean started to get increasingly frustrated. Snapped at Sam over nothing, threw him calculating, dirty looks and the frequency at which Sam received those blessed blow jobs was starting to steadily decline. Sam didn’t want to push his luck, was in no hurry for them to disappear altogether so eventually he relented with quick, perfunctory hand jobs that left Dean even more frustrated than nothing at all.

“Jesus Christ, Sam,” Dean had complained, making a face while Sam wiped his come-covered hand off on Dean’s bed sheet. He’d just come down Dean’s throat and honestly, half the fun in jerking Dean off, was making him wait a few more minutes before he could rinse his mouth out. The other half, of course, was the rush of pride and power he got from being the one to give Dean what he needed. “If you’re gonna fuckin’ phone it in, don’t bother. I can do better myself.”

Sam had just gotten up to wash his hands and settled smugly down into his own, clean bed.

He hadn’t gotten around to actually fucking Dean yet, but he was going to. Oh, he was going to. And he was going to make sure Dean did not get off on it. Because his brother was a jerk and hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to make sure Sam had fun when he was the one… you know. He just wasn’t in any particular hurry, because, well, because then it would be over and he wouldn’t have any more excuses for one-sided, on demand blow jobs.

When Dean had fucked Sam it hadn’t been _good_ , by any stretch of the imagination, but he could see how it might have been if Dean had given a rat’s ass about _Sam’s_ pleasure, instead of just his own. It hurt like a motherfucker but there were moments, especially towards the end, when he’d kind of gotten used to the intrusion. When the head of Dean’s cock had hit that spot inside him that sort of made him tingle. It hadn’t been enough to get him hard after his erection had faded at the initial pain, but it was something.

And under different circumstances it might be good. You know, if Sam was gay. And hot for his brother. Which he wasn’t. Still, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be willing to try it again at some point. It had… potential.

So a few weeks worth of using Dean any way he liked while he could get away with it, then fuck him into the mattress – or the wall, or the hood of the Impala, or wherever they happened to be – and then everything would be back to normal between them. Or, as normal as it ever got for two straight brothers, who sometimes got each other off.

That was the plan.

The thing was, there were… complications.

***

The first time Sam tried to kiss his brother, it had been nothing but reflex. It wasn’t like he meant to do it, wasn’t like he’d even _thought_ about it but kissing was just something that Sam did when he was intimate with someone. And he’d had sex with Dean, actually had _sex_ with him. They’d been trading blow jobs for over a year, hand jobs for longer and they’d never kissed. Never bothered, it didn’t even cross their minds because it wasn’t like that between them. They were just brothers, honestly they were, and they didn’t have warm fuzzy feelings about each other.

They loved each other, of course they did, just… not like that. Sam didn’t think. So when it had almost happened, it was just as much a shock to him as it was to Dean.

They hadn’t so much as looked at each other sideways for over three weeks, things sliding seamlessly into a period of being just brothers (without the benefits) after Sam’s demanding head every other day or so had gotten old. But one night, Sam had come pretty close to hooking up with a tall blonde who worked nights at the hospital their latest hunt had brought them to. That night back at their motel, he and Dean fell back into it.

Sam had Dean pinned to the wall, their pants open and their cocks while they furiously jerked each other toward a swift and satisfying climax.

Dean had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout, had his left hand clenched tight around Sam’s hip and he was breathing hotly into Sam’s ear, soft, hitching pants that shot straight through to Sam’s balls. It was good. _Extraordinarily_ good for a quick jerk off session. It was warm and tight and Dean’s chest was pressed up against his own with each heaving breath and Dean _moaned_ , God and squeezed him harder.

So, yeah. It wasn’t really Sam’s fault. He just forgot himself for a minute. Not even a minute, just a second, maybe two. Just five seconds, just as his orgasm started to overtake him and Sam tilted his head to the side and down, lips nearly brushing the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Fuck, Sam,” Dean had panted, easily turning his head to the side so Sam missed his target. It wasn’t until Sam’s lips slid ineffectually over Dean’s jaw bone, that he even realised what he had been about to do and he quickly changed tacks, closing his teeth down over Dean’s stubble instead. He knew he wasn’t fooling anyone but was thankful that Dean didn’t make a big deal out of it, just gripped him tighter, pumped faster and smirked when they came all over each other.

“I know I’m good,” Dean said, gasping as he came down from his high, lip still curled up at the corner of his mouth. “But you really didn’t have to blow it with that chick on purpose. I’d still have been here tomorrow.”

“Maybe so,” Sam had answered, grinning a little himself. “But since you couldn’t manage to score, I didn’t want to hurt your delicate feelings by rubbing it your face how much more awesome I am.”

“You wish,” Dean said with a snort. He gave Sam’s cock one last squeeze before he pushed his brother away, making a face. “Get off me, bitch. And I get first shower.”

***

The second time Sam tried to kiss his brother it was just as accidental, but slightly more disturbing. 

It was two weeks after the first time and under similar circumstances. A hard hunt had led them to a bar, where Dean had managed to cozy up to a busty woman in a tube top in under ten minutes. Sam didn’t usually go for the cheap hook-ups like Dean did and if he’d been in the mood for one, he didn’t spot anyone that he thought was worth the effort. And since he knew Dean wasn’t any kind of effort at all, he took the easy route. He went for the epic brotherly cock-block.

“Hey Dean,” he said, as he sidled up next to Dean at the bar. He made every effort to give his voice as much volume as was acceptable, without earning him strange looks in the mostly quiet bar. “Don’t forget, the doctor says that you need to abstain until those pills can kick in.”

The girl that had been hanging all over Dean had screwed up her face and pulled out from under his arm, scanning the crowd for a replacement. Dean had turned a confused look on Sam, but after only a few seconds he managed to clue in and his look turned murderous.

“What the fuck?!”

Sam just grinned, snidely and walked away. He didn’t even look behind him to see if Dean was following. Of course he would be. Dean wanted to _kill_ him.

Dean unlocked the car to let them both in and the second Sam had closed the door behind himself, Dean has his pants open and reached over to grab Sam’s wrist, shoving Sam’s limp palm down into his lap. He gave Sam’s hand an encouraging squeeze and bucked up into the touch.

“Blow me, Sammy,” Dean ordered. Sam baulked, snorted and made to pull his hand back, only to have Dean squeeze it harder. “Oh no. You did that on fucking purpose, Sammy. You owe me.” 

“I’m not fucking…” Sam protested, even as Dean’s hand on his arm pulled him down. Dean chuckled as Sam took him out and licked hesitantly over the head of his cock. “Not gonna…” he muttered, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anybody. He’d made Dean wait long enough, and he’d kind of pushed it a little too far tonight. He sighed in resignation as his mouth descended over Dean’s dick, lips closing and throat swallowing around the shaft for the first time in months.

It was quick.

It always was, which Sam was thankful for. He hated doing this and Dean knew it, so he usually tried to go as easy on him as possible.

When it was over Sam sat up and Dean winked at him, stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a package of Lifesavers. He popped one off the end of the roll and offered it to Sam. Sam grinned and took it, tossed it in his mouth and unthinkingly leaned forward.

Dean jerked back and Sam’s attempt was met with a slight clearing of Dean’s throa, as he casually turned the key in the ignition, starting up the car. “I’ll uh…” Dean said. He backed out of the parking space, heading the car toward their motel. “I’ll get you back when we get to the room.”

Sam nodded and sat back in his own seat, frowning. He should have been glad Dean pulled away. Should have been relieved that it hadn’t ended in an embarrassing locking of lips that would have had them stuttering and shifty-eyed. Because he honestly hadn’t meant to do it. Again.

He wasn’t though. Relieved. He felt… disappointed, in an odd sort of way. Because fuck, what was the big deal? They’d fucked. And they couldn’t kiss? Sure, Dean would say kissing was _gay_ , would somehow mean more than what they’d shared so far, but hell, _he_ was the one that wanted the sex in the first place! Surely that was gayer than kissing.

Sam swallowed down the bizarre feeling of rejection and by the time he was painting the inside of their room door with come, while Dean jerked him off from behind, he’d forgotten about it entirely.

***

The third time, there was intent. It was pre-meditated, calculated, with Sam lying flat on top of his brother, both of them naked from the waist down and rutting against each other on Sam’s bed, to mutual orgasm.

Again, Dean easily evaded his move, head tilted up and to the side so Sam’s kiss landed on Dean’s neck, but this time Sam actually acknowledged it. In as much as an irritated huff of breath, followed by him pushing up off Dean and going for a shower, slamming the bathroom door behind him, could be considered acknowledgement.

It wasn’t that Sam _wanted_ to kiss Dean. Exactly. It was more that he couldn’t, and that pissed him off. It was kind of a kick in the face and blow to his ego, because there were tonnes of people out there who would be (and in fact were, when Sam was feeling up for it) happy to kiss him. That Dean wasn’t one of those people was… insulting. It was a challenge.

***

The fourth time, Dean called him on it.

“Dude,” Dean said, the word dripping from his lips like it tasted bad. “Fuck off, Sam. No way.”

It had been a couple of weeks since they’d done this, since they’d been together like this and they hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet. Sam had just sat down on the couch next to Dean, hand on his thigh just above his knee and working its way up. He leaned in, mouth going for Dean’s at the same time as he made to unfasten Dean’s pants and slip his fingers in.

Dean pulled back, turned his head but Sam followed, relentless until Dean pushed at him, snarled and shifted over to put a good foot’s worth of space between them.

“Oh, come on, Dean,” Sam said, twisting up his face. “We’ve had our dicks in each other’s mouths. I let you fuck me. And you can’t even kiss me? What the hell?”

“Dude, are you still stuck on that?” Dean asked, shaking his head, like he’d figured maybe Sam had gotten over it by now. Like getting fucked hard and dry by your big brother was something you could get over with a few rounds of head. “Can’t you just stick your dick in my ass and we’ll call it even?”

Sam’s jaw dropped and he blinked. Twice. “Seriously? That’s okay, but kissing isn’t?”

“Kissing is gay, dude.”

“Dean,” Sam said, very slowly, like he was explaining something to a four year old. Not that he’d ever be talking to a four year old about any kind of sex at all, let alone incestuous gay sex, but sometimes he needed to dumb things down when he talked with Dean. “Having _gay sex_ is gay.”

Not that they were. Gay. Sam snapped his mouth shut and frowned. In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the best argument to use.

Dean snarled and pushed further into the couch so that he was resting against the back, instead of perched on the edge. “Man, that’s just…” he said, gesturing back and forth between them carelessly. “Getting off. It’s not…”

Sam raised a sceptical eyebrow when Dean trailed off and Dean scowled.

“Fine,” Sam said, standing up and stripping out of his t-shirt. “Take your clothes off and let’s have some totally un-gay sex. With two cocks.” Because yeah. As gay as they weren’t, even Sam wasn’t practiced enough in the art of denial to think that what they were doing together wasn’t at least a little bit… homosexual. And yeah, okay, he might have had a fantasy or two in his lifetime, but before Dean he’d never even _thought_ about putting them into practice.

“You sweet talker you,” Dean grinned. He winked, then stood up as well, shedding his jeans and underwear quickly before letting them fall carelessly at his feet. Then he looked at Sam’s chest and wrinkled his nose, like it was offensive somehow. “And dude, put your shirt back on. You don’t have to be naked for this and I think that might be a little more man-skin than I can handle without retching.”

Sam stared at him and pointedly did not put his shirt back on. His hands went to his pants and he unfastened them, let them pool at his feet. “Deal with it, Dean,” he said, snorting. He didn’t fail to notice the way Dean looked him up and down before he turned his head. God, if his self-preservation instinct wasn’t so well-honed, he’d accuse Dean of protesting a little too much.

“Get on your bed,” Sam ordered. “Since you’re clearly so okay with it, let’s try this shit with you on the bottom.” He’d kind of hoped to have to talk Dean into it, looked forward to his grudging acquiescence. But if Dean was going to play it cool, pretend he didn’t mind, Sam could work with that. He’d just have to fuck him extra hard.

Dean smirked. “I gotta take a piss first,” he said and Sam rolled his eyes, but nodded. “And we’re doing this on _your_ bed, asshole. I don’t want to have to deal with a wet spot,” Dean told him, before disappearing behind the bathroom door.

Sam watched Dean walk away and went to lie down on Dean’s bed, absently stroking himself to hardness as he waited for his brother to get out of the bathroom. He could make a big deal out of it, refuse to do what Dean said, but it wouldn’t get him anywhere. Silent disobedience was usually his best bet, although Dean was so damn bossy most of the time that Sam didn’t think he’d be able to get away with it.

Dean came out not even two minutes later, but it was long enough to have Sam fully hard and a little anxious. He raised an eyebrow at Sam before passing right by him and plopping down on Sam’s bed. He was hard already, which was… weird. Sam hadn’t even touched him ye, and he hadn’t expected his brother to be exactly eager for this.

“No way,” Dean said, shaking his head as he stretched out. “I told you, I’m not sleeping on any wet spot. If you want to do this, we’re doin’ it on your bed.”

“Fine,” Sam ground out and pushed off Dean’s bed, following Dean to his own. “Roll over,” he said, smacking Dean on the hip. He positioned himself between Dean’s legs as his older brother obliged. “Ass in the air.”

Sam heard a distinctly amused snort come from Dean and he tried his best not to grind his teeth to dust. Who the fuck was Dean to be amused by this? This was Sam’s show and Dean was supposed to just grin and bear it.

Dean propped himself up though, without any further encouragement, elbows bracing his weight as he canted his hips back to give Sam an easy view of his hole. Sam froze, sucked in a breath, clenched his teeth. It was fucking infuriating. And a little hot. Sam’s cock twitched and a small drop of pre-come leaked from the tip.

“Seriously?” he asked, grabbing the base of his cock and angling himself so the head was lined up against Dean’s ass. “That easy? You’re such a slut, Dean.”

“Aww, Sammy,” Dean said, and Sam heard him smile, wanted to hit him, not for the first time that night. “Worried you aren’t the first? That’s cute, dude. Really. But I swear, it ain’t somethin’ you gotta concern yourself with.”

Sam frowned. He couldn’t help but notice that that wasn’t exactly a denial. And yes, there were countless reasons that doing this _thing_ he and Dean did with each other was a bad, _bad_ idea, but Sam was man enough to admit that he liked it. He _liked_ it and he knew Dean liked it, too and there was an unavoidable part of him that desperately wanted to be Dean’s first, in this sense.

Dean had been his first; it was only fair. And the nagging suspicion that that wasn’t true egged Sam on. As soon as he was properly lined up behind Dean he pushed inside, swift and unapologetic. Buried himself deep, in one quick stroke.

The pain would serve Dean fucking right for… Sam didn’t even know. So what if Dean had fucked other guys? It wasn’t like it was any of Sam’s business. Didn’t stop the fact that idea grated.

“Fuck!” Dean cursed underneath him, through gritted teeth. He tensed and bowed his head, his fingers curled into fists around the loose fabric of the pillow case, even though the first slide inside was a whole lot easier than Sam had been expecting. It was also… squishier. Much more slick and smooth than anyone’s asshole had any right to be.

“You fucking…” Sam gasped. He drew almost all the way out, snapped his hips forward and pushed back in again. “Prepped?!”

Dean snickered and turned his head back to look at Sam, winced at another sharp jab of Sam’s hips. 

“Dude. Like I was…” he broke off on a gasp and Sam felt Dean forcibly relax around and under him, angle his hips to make the penetration easier. He shifted slightly back onto Sam’s cock, taking it in easier still. He was better at this than Sam had been, calmer and smoother and the way he moved made Sam shake and quiver. And that bothered Sam. It wasn’t supposed to be _easy_. This was Sam’s turn to get back at Dean for the way he’d been treated. 

“Like I was gonna let you anywhere near my ass without loosening up and squiring some lube in there. I know you too well for that, little brother.”

“You’ve done this before!” Sam accused. There was no other explanation. Yeah, okay, Dean was really good in bed, but nobody was _this_ good their first time. His hips stilled as his fingers dug painfully into Dean’s hips, fingernails leaving tiny little crescent-shaped grooves in his skin.

“What?!” Dean baulked, breathed out heavily and closed his eyes, moved his own hips back and forth a few times, slowly. “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. ‘Course I haven’t.”

“But you’re… good at it.” And he was. The way Dean was moving felt… God, _good_ wasn’t the word. Amazing, maybe. Un-fucking-believable, probably. The slow roll of his hips and the gentle back and forth, the sharp twist and the loose stance – they were obviously designed to make it easier on Dean, but it had the side effect, planned or not, of making Sam feel weak in the knees, short of breath. Damnit, this was pretty close to some of the best sex he’d ever had and it wasn’t fucking _fair_. This was supposed to even the score, that was all. It wasn’t supposed to make him crave Dean’s touch even more.

Dean cocked his head, smirked and fuck but the bastard could even pull off looking smug while Sam was fucking him from behind on a cheap, polyester bedspread. Sam had no idea how the fuck he did it. “Thanks,” he said cockily. “Natural talent.”

Sam shook his head and ignored Dean for several minutes. Just gripped his hips tight, squeezed his eyes and thrust forward and back, in and out of Dean. Dean was loose and pliant underneath him, rocked himself, canted his hips just enough. Enough to make Sam feel good, to make him moan and cry out, high pitched and embarrassing. He took just enough control, but not so much that he didn’t let Sam change the speed or angle or ferocity of their fucking. His control was subtle, so much so that Sam wouldn’t notice, not until later, not until they were done. 

Sam took his lower lip between his teeth, bit down sharply as he slid one of his hands forward and around, past Dean’s hip ad into the thatch of coarse hair at his pelvis. An inch further, not even that much and then Sam froze. Hand stiff and tight, his body immobile behind Dean.

Maybe Dean hadn’t done this before, not with another man anyway, but this clearly wasn’t the first time he’d had something up his ass. Sam wasn’t being careful, wasn’t holding back at all and while he knew Dean must be hurting, he wasn’t making nearly as big a deal about it as Sam had. 

“You’re…” Sam started, blinked and shook his head, his fingers brushing along the shaft of Dean’s cock. “You’re _hard_.” It was an accusation, coming out almost on a whine because Dean wasn’t supposed to be hard. Sam wasn’t, when he was the one getting fucked and it wasn’t fair that Dean was, now. Not until Sam wanted him to be.

Dean’s hips twisted, rotated in almost a full circle and pressed back against Sam, his ass cheeks pressing flush against Sam’s hip bones. He let out a moan, something that sounded a little too close to pleasure, but enough on the side of discomfort to keep Sam happy.

“Uh… yeah,” Dean told him, voice taking on a false bravado, shaky even though he tried to hide it and talking to Sam like he was slow. “It feels good.”

Sam knew Dean well. Well enough to know that Dean wasn’t telling the whole truth. There was some barely perceptible tension in his brother’s frame, some apprehension as he twisted under Sam’s hold, as his muscles tightened and went soft under his hands and then Dean let out a low whistle and wriggled, pushed back tight and then forward again.

He also knew Dean well enough to know that he was being at least partly honest. It did feel good, even just a little bit. Sam’s hands held tighter to Dean’s hips, held him in place easily and slid out, slowly so that just the tip of his cock was still inside and then slammed forward, hard. As hard as he could and when Dean tensed, hissed in a sharp breath and his arms shook as they worked to hold him upright, Sam smiled.

“Okay, that feels _less_ good,” Dean ground out. But he didn’t try to pull away, just bent over even further, rested his cheek along the back of one of his hands and opened himself up more, made the gliding in and out of Sam’s cock even easier. A few more deep, hard thrusts, a few more matching winces on Dean’s face, his eyes closed and crinkling around the corners, lip curled slightly (reminding Sam that he wanted to kiss it off, close his mouth over Dean’s almost more than he wanted to fuck him, _damnit_ ) and Sam slid his hand down again.

Over the sharp bone of Dean’s hip and around and motherfucking son of a bitch, Dean was still fucking hard!

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Sam snapped, on hard thrust in.

“What?”

“You’re enjoying this?” He phrased it like a question, but it really wasn’t one. 

Dean chuckled and the hand was that wasn’t supporting his face went to his cock, started stroking. Probably to make sure he stayed hard through the pain. “Well, it’s not on my top ten list, but I’ve experienced worse things. It’s your turn, dude,” he said and tried to shrug, his words almost careless. “Might as well at least try to get off on it, you know?”

“Fine. You like taking it up the ass so much, you can be on the bottom every time we do this.” Because this was just not going his way. Dean wasn’t supposed to get off on this. Dean was supposed to wilt, and bury his face in the pillow and bitch for Sam to get it the fuck over with. And Sam was supposed to use him to get off and make fun of Dean for walking funny the next day.

He was not supposed to make it look like it might be fun, fuel Sam’s imagination, fan the flames of hesitant lust that sparked inside him when he thought about how once the pain had faded, the feeling of having Dean inside him was actually pretty okay, bordering on good.

It wasn’t like he wanted Dean to suffer, exactly. He didn’t. He just… This was as much about revenge for Dean talking Sam into something he thought he hadn’t wanted, and going out of his way to make it as unpleasant as possible.

“Oh, fuck that!” Dean said, and slammed his hips back against Sam, jerked himself faster. “We’re takin’ turns.”

Sam huffed, because yeah. Dean was right. No way was Dean going to let Sam keep fucking him if he didn’t get to fuck Sam back. But, this was Sam’s turn, like Dean had said, so he continued to rock back and forth, the warmth and tightness of Dean’s ass around his cock, the soft slickness of the hole, pushing him closer and closer to the edge and starting to eclipse his need for revenge.

It obviously didn’t bother Dean that much when Sam tried to make it bad. So, Sam figured he might as well try to make it good. _Really_ good.

He moved slower. Faster and then slower, swiveled his hips and rode into Dean on long, long slides. Tilted his pelvis and thrust deeper, did it gently, purposefully and Dean started to relax under him. Honestly relax, muscles soft and easy, instead of just forcing himself too and they’d been together enough times for Sam to know the difference, to know that Dean was getting close. Sam slowed down.

Gentled his thrusts, angled his hips to make sure he was catching Dean’s prostate every so often (and he could tell when he did, because Dean would freeze, stop breathing for a split second and groan low in his throat) and he placed his hand over Dean’s, forcing him to stop jerking himself.

Dean grunted in frustration, but Sam just smiled and licked a stripe up the back of his neck, kept on fucking him. Slow and lazy, like they were lovers and it was Saturday morning. Dean shivered and bucked his hips forward, tried to get more stimulation on his cock and ducked his head, moving to get away from Sam’s tongue, his lips.

Sam chuckled and wrapped an arm around Dean’s middle. This was more like it. Dean was on edge, wanting to come and he was off his game, because this? This softness, this kind of touching? It wasn’t something they did. It was something Dean went out of his way to avoid and this kind of thing, more than having his brother bent over on his hands and knees, was what gave Sam control over the situation.

His arm tightened and he sat back, pulling Dean with him easily. He lifted Dean’s unresisting body up and back, ass on his heels with Dean in his lap. Dean’s legs were bracketing his and he let his free hand run absently down Dean’s thigh, tense with holding himself up.

He let out a shaky breath, started to move his hand over Dean’s erection, thumb over the head, picking up the small dribble of slickness he found there and spreading it over the shaft, easing his stroking.

To Dean’s credit he lasted more than a minute, which was about a minute longer than Sam would have thought, before he wriggled his hips, sighed and covered Sam’s hand with his own. “Dude, come on,” he said, irritated. “I gotta fucking come.”

Sam smiled and leaned in, putting his mouth over the side of Dean’s neck in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

“Oh, gross man, get offa me!” Dean complained, and jerked away.

“Dean,” Sam said, and he sounded half way between amused and confused. “My cock is up your ass and you think that me _kissing your neck_ is gross?”

“I can’t believe how fucking gay you are. Seriously.”

Sam rolled his eyes but backed off for the moment, still moving inside Dean slowly with his hand working over Dean’s dick in slow, lazy strokes. “I’m enjoying myself, Dean,” he told his brother. “I feel like taking my time. Getting what I can out of it.”

Dean’s jaw ticked and he went a little limper on top of Sam. “God, I’m so gonna get you back for this,” he mumbled. “You wanna know what I’m thinking about right now?”

“Not really,” Sam said, because he didn’t, really. Didn’t much care what Dean was thinking about, as long as he was keeping Sam’s dick warm. That was their arrangement, after all.

“I’m thinking about how much more awesome this would be, if I had your mouth around my dick,” Dean told him anyway. “Or your ass. Or, no. Better yet. Some hot chick. Long dark hair, nice rack, ass you could bounce a nickel off, and plump, pink lips…”

Sam tensed, his fingers dug into Dean’s thigh and he was getting ready to yank Dean down on top of him, force himself all the way in and watch as pain and discomfort shot across Dean’s face. He was ready to get off on it. Because Sam and Dean both fucked other people, sure and they weren’t a couple, of course not, but hearing Dean talk about some non-existent woman while he was actually fucking Sam, pissed him the hell off.

And then Dean tensed, arched his back and pressed his ass nice and snug against Sam’s pelvis, and pushed Sam’s hand out of the way. He wrapped his own fingers around his cock and pumped, lightening fast with a soft keen from the back of his throat and came. It was… it was a fucking thing of beauty, was what it was, but Sam hadn’t planned it and it made him want to hurt Dean _more_.

Especially when Dean fell forward and wiped his messy hand on Sam’s pillow. Sam clenched his jaw tightly as Dean tensed his muscles, squeezing his ass enticingly around Sam’s dick.

“Dean…” Sam whined. Yes, whined, because it was a crappy pillow, but it was _his_ pillow and it was the only one he had tonight. “You’re an asshole.”

Dean just smirked and made sure to rub his messy dick along Sam’s sheets, smearing the rest of his come wherever he could. “Hurry up, dude,” he said. “I’m done, and this isn’t even a little bit fun anymore.”

“Yeah, cause that was my motivation,” Sam snickered. “Your fun. Jerk.”

He pulled Dean back up, hand on Dean’s chest pressing him tightly against Sam’s front and he pushed up a few more times, not in any hurry.

“Kiss me,” he said, grinning wide at Dean’s startled expression. It was playing dirty and Sam knew it, but he was going to get what he wanted out of Dean, one way or another.

“What?!”

“Simple. You want it to be over, kiss me, Dean.”

“Oh, come on. Sam…”

Sam ducked his head and closed his teeth lightly over Dean’s earlobe, let his tongue drift out to tease over the soft flesh and he felt Dean jerk and tense in his arms. He grinned against Dean’s neck and started moving faster, only a dozen or so strokes and he was right on the edge.

Dean could tell, obviously, because he started moving himself against Sam then, trying to drive him over as quickly as possible. But then Sam stopped, held Dean still on top of him with his hands holding tight to Dean’s thighs and gulped in a large breath. Got, it wasn’t easy, holding of like this. Dean was fucking _good_.

One of his hands came up to cup Dean’s chin and he turned his brother’s head, tilted his own and whispered across his lips. “Kiss me,” he said, careful not to touch, not until Dean leaned in. “One little kiss, and I’ll finish. It’ll be done and next time it’ll be your turn again.”

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean asked, his head dropping back against Sam’s shoulder. “We don’t…”

“Don’t what? Have a seriously troubling relationship, behind closed doors? I don’t think a little kissing is going to make anything worse, Dean.”

“It is for me!” Dean shouted. He sat up straight again, lifted his hips and lowered himself on Sam. Again. “Just fucking come already. You’ve got thirty seconds and then I’m going for a shower. So make the most of ‘em.”

“Kiss me,” Sam insisted.

“Fine,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “Twenty-five seconds. Have fun finishing yourself off, dude.”

Sam just pushed his hips forward easily and smiled. “Kiss me,” he said again. “Or I won’t ever let you fuck me again.”

Dean pulled his head back and looked at Sam like he didn’t quite believe him. “Well than I’m sure as hell not gonna let _you_ fuck _me_ anymore,” he said, his voice a little uncertain.

Sam nodded, still smiling thinly. “I’m okay with that. I got by just fine on blow jobs and hand jobs so far. I can go back to that. Can you?”

A brief look of terror flashed across Dean’s face and Sam barely resisted the urge to pump his fist in the air, cry out in victory. The look was quickly replaced by anger, then resignation as Dean inched closer, tilting his head and brushing his nose against Sam’s.

“I fucking hate you, you know that?” he asked. Sam’s smile widened. “I mean it. You so owe me for this. Your ass is gonna be fucking purple by the time I’m done with it.”

“Well, that’s up to you,” Sam told him, not believing for a second that would ever _really_ hurt him. Not when they were like this, when trust was such a huge thing. “But this time, I’m driving. And I want you to…”

He didn’t even get the chance to tell Dean, yet again, what he wanted Dean to do, before Dean’s mouth was pressed against his. It was hard. All teeth through pursed lips, but Sam took advantage of it the best way he could, palm flat and soft against Dean’s chin. He eased his tongue inside Dean’s mouth, as gentle as Dean was harsh.

When Dean finally relented, opened his mouth to let Sam in, it only took seconds. An embarrassingly few number of them and Sam was coming, intense and sharp and deep inside Dean. He moaned, he couldn’t help it, because damn, he’d thought Dean’s mouth was nice, but his ass… yeah. This whole thing might not have been on Dean’s top ten list, but it sure as fuck was on Sam’s.

“Good boy,” Sam teased after Dean pulled back. Dean snarled.

“You’re sick, Sam. You know that. Right?” Dean let out a small laugh and shook his head, stood up much too easily for Sam’s liking. He only flinched slightly as he switched his weight from one foot to the other.

“God, that feels gross,” he said, features twisted in a mockery of concentration as he felt Sam’s jizz move around inside him, sliding out and down between his legs.

Sam didn’t say ‘get used to it’, because that was a sure fire way to make sure this never happened again, but he did fall backward, head hanging over the foot of the bed, and smirked. “Trust me Dean. I’m well aware of how that feels.”

Dean growled, and turned, headed toward the bathroom. “Purple,” he mumbled. “I swear.”

Sam watched Dean’s ass clench as he walked, trying to keep the mess from leaking out too much until he got into the shower. Dean didn’t bother shutting the door behind him and as soon as Sam heard the spray of the water, he got up and settled himself in Dean’s bed. He fluffed up Dean’s (clean) pillow and wriggled down into the mattress, tossed the covers over half his body. It wasn’t cold, but he liked the pressure, the security.

Dean could either sleep on the messy bed, or sleep with Sam. Either way was good. A little snuggling might even fuck with Dean’s head some more, and that was always fun.


	4. Eat Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s a little worried that Sam might actually be turning gay. And that’s a problem, because while he doesn’t mind the odd roll in the hay with his brother, screwing a gay dude is a little too much. The problem is not that he’s jealous. At all. He knows he’s awesome in bed and it’s obviously time Sam learned that as well. Just so he doesn’t go gay, of course. Also, Sam’s kind of a sneaky bastard.

It had been another easy case. Mostly. They seemed to be getting a lot of those lately.

Sam had spent the morning getting his geek on, searching through the local obits, making phone calls, narrowing things down. Dean closed the door behind him and sat down on his bed in the motel room they’d rented out late the night before, mumbling an offhand ‘hey’ to Sam as he did so.

He made some notes on the diner napkin he pulled from his pocket, looked over the coroner’s report he’d brought back with him for a few minutes, before he gave up. He sighed and pushed the notes aside, balled up the napkin and tossed it at Sam’s head, before he fell back onto the mattress and closed his eyes. Gross medical stuff like that was always more Sam’s thing. For some inexplicable reason, without any kind of medical training, the kid had always just seemed to _get it_.

Dean was more of a people person.

Which was why he spent the afternoon at the library of all places, casually getting to know the girl who spent her days putting books back on the shelves. A sweet little brunette with a killer body who had been best friends with the poor girl they suspected of having become a zombie, five days ago.

Long story short, they were right. And it went like this: Sam set the trap and Dean cut her head off. Sam bitched that the zombie girl had torn strips through his shirt and pants and Dean dusted the packed cemetery dirt off his hands. Sam traded stories with the geeky morgue intern and Dean made a date with the hot librarian.

Dean was really starting to itch for something with a little more meat to it, but hey. At least this case looked like it would have a happy ending.

And since he wasn’t selfish, and since his date with Andrea was at the bar just down the road from their motel, Dean agreed to let Sam tag along. He’d been kind of moody lately and getting out (and maybe getting laid) would do the kid some good.

***

Sam barely glanced up from his computer screen, fingers moving across the keyboard as Dean laced up his boots. “Seriously, Dean,” he said, sounding half bored and half annoyed. Pretty much how he always sounded. “Just go out, get laid and leave me alone. I’m tired. I’m not in the mood to sit in the corner and look up our next case while I watch you hook up.”

“Fuck, Sammy, is it like your default setting to be such a buzzkill? Leave your laptop here for fucking once, and try to get laid yourself. It’s a _bar_.” Dean grinned and stood up straight, tilted his head toward the door in invitation. “I’m sure you’ll find someone drunk enough to overlook your hair.”

“As awesome as that sounds, I think I’ll pass.”

Dean sighed and slipped into his coat, flipped his collar. “Come on, man,” he pleaded, and the tone of his voice had Sam actually looking up at him, instead of just mumbling at him from behind his computer. “We hardly ever do this kind of shit together anymore. I wanna get drunk and score chicks with my brother. We fucking deserve it. Even if you _will_ totally bring down my game.”

He smirked and Sam chuckled, shook his head.

Sam took a deep breath and Dean was sure he was going to say no _again_ , but then he took his lower lip between his teeth and he closed his laptop, before standing up. “Okay,” Sam agreed, cocking his head and grinning. “But you’re buying.”

***

It started out good. No, scratch that. It started out _great_. Andrea was already there when Dean and Sam showed up, and she waved at Dean from a table against the left wall. She was alone, but there were three more barstool-style chairs pulled up to the small round table and Dean smiled back at her as he and Sam sat down.

Half way through their first round of drinks and some polite small talk they moved to a corner booth. The light was lower, the angle cut off the sight line from most of the bar and Andrea decided to take advantage of their new location, draped herself over Dean so she was nearly sitting in his lap.

Not that Dean was complaining. She was warm and soft and her lips felt great pressed up against his while her fingers danced through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Her breasts were full and solid against his ribs and her thigh was rubbing up against his rapidly hardening cock, where her leg was resting over top of Dean’s.

God, he needed to get out of here, needed to get her somewhere a little more private. Maybe she lived nearby.

He pulled back to ask her, to smile and wink at Sammy and tell him not to wait up, but when he looked up and across the table to where Sam had been, there was nothing but empty space.

Huh.

Okay, so Dean had to admit it was kind of a dick move ignoring him like that, especially since it was Dean who dragged him out in the first place, but the guy could have at least   
_said_ something when he decided to fuck off on them. On the plus side, if he didn’t have Dean to hang off, Sam would pretty much be forced into talking to someone else. And that was always the first step to getting laid.

“Guess we scared him off,” he smiled, rubbing his palm slowly back and forth over Andrea’s hip. She tilted her head up and kissed Dean playfully on the mouth.

“That, or he found his own fun” she said, laughing a little and tilting her head towards the bar. She shifted to straddle Dean then, ground down against him as her ass wriggled in his lap. His cock twitched and pulsed and filled even more and he groaned. Fucking _whimpered_ and one hand slid casually across her thigh, thumb slipping to the inside to play across the seam on her jeans.

“Yeah, I told him…” Dean started, smiling into Andrea’s mouth, before her words actually registered. Then he smiled wider and pulled back again, turned around to scan the room. Sam had actually hooked up? About damn time. He didn’t know how long it had been for the guy, but Sam was getting bitchy enough lately that it was probably way too long.

Shit, it had been over a month since he’d even fucked _Dean_ and they hadn’t so much as glanced at each other since then. Not with any kind of sexual interest, anyway. Dean was almost starting to think that they’d finally grown out of it. That their fucked up sexual relationship had finally run its course.

Which would have been cool with Dean. Mostly. He’d miss having sexual favours on tap, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t like Dean needed sex all the damn time, and when he did, he could manage without Sam. Tonight was proof of that. It was easy, with Andrea there in his lap, rubbing down against him and trailing kisses across his neck.

It was easy to ignore the small part of him that would be a little disappointed at the prospect of never being able to fuck Sam in particular, ever again.

It was a small disappointment, came mostly from the thought of the extra effort he’d have to put in to conquests, on long, hard days when he’d rather just fall into a lumpy bed with an easy mouth around his dick.

And then Dean turned his head, looked to where his date had nodded and froze. Fucking _froze_ , body going entirely rigid with a tongue in his ear and a hand under his shirt. He jerked, shifted and pushed lightly, slid Andrea off his lap and landed her abruptly on the bench seat next to him.

He cleared his throat and looked back at her briefly, mumbled an apology and blinked. He stood up, eyes hard on his brother and walked toward him.

Normally when this happened, when his brother was all cozied up to someone and Dean thought there was even the slightest chance of him getting any action, Dean would sneak up to him, tell him he’d see him in the morning, pass over the room key, and make himself scarce.

But this… This was different.

The person standing next to Sam this time, the person leaning in and whispering in his ear, the person signalling the bartender and pushing a drink in front of Sam… was a guy.

A fucking _guy_. A guy was hitting on his little brother, and Sam was fucking letting him! Not only letting him, but goddamn flirting back, if the coy smile and the faux-shy head tilt were anything to go by.

What. The. Fuck.

When Dean was about halfway across the room, Sam’s eyes shifted from the guy in front of him to Dean. They stayed on him for only a split second and then something the guy said must have been really fucking funny, because Sam was looking at him again, laughing like some kind of moron, loud and open-mouthed.

And the fact that Sam’s laugh was usually welcome and comforting (even if it was at Dean’s expense a lot of the time) was a fact that Dean was choosing to ignore at the moment. Because right now, it was pretty damn annoying.

And he looked just as annoying as he sounded. As far as Dean had seen, Sam hadn’t tried out his ‘shy and deep, with a heart of gold’ routine in a long fucking time and it didn’t suit him anymore. At least in Dean’s opinion it didn’t, but that play might have gone out the window, as far as Dean was concerned, when he and his little brother started blowing each other. Whatever. It was apparently working on this guy.

This guy, who was… well, okay, he wasn’t entirely terrible looking. He had short, dark hair and pretty eyes and a strong, solid jaw, wide shoulders and narrow hips and the muscles across his forearms were prominent and lean. He was probably pretty attractive. If Dean were inclined to appreciate that sort of thing about a man, he’d probably be appreciating the hell out of it right now.

But he was a _guy_. And Sam wasn’t into guys and _this_ guy was looking at Sam like he was a Goddamn steak dinner, and that was just not fucking right. Sam wasn’t into guys, Dean was sure of it. Except, Dean thought, when Sam caught Dean’s eye one more time, before leaning forward and _oh so subtly_ brushing his knuckles up against the dude’s wrist on the bar top… maybe he was.

In any case, fuck that. No way in hell was Dean gonna let that happen, because his brother was _not_ fucking gay. He’d happily help Sam hook up with a nice set of tits, but he felt it was sort of his duty to step in when it seemed as if Sam was looking to make some major lifestyle choices. He was a good brother.

“Dude,” Dean said roughly, when he reached them. He put a hand down on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing a little too hard and Sam winced.

“Ow, what the hell, Dean?” Sam complained, rolling his shoulders to shake Dean off.

“Time to go, Sammy,” he said. He tried to make his voice light, carefree, but his teeth were clenched and he was pretty sure it came off sounding forced. Whatever. He didn’t give a shit, as long as he got Sam out of there. “Got us a six pack waiting back at the room.”

“Well thanks for that, Dean, but I’m sort of in the middle of something,” Sam said, and shot Dean a glare before he turned his face into an easier smile when he looked back at his new _friend_.

It was only then that Dean finally turned and acknowledged the guy at all.

“Paul,” the guy said, smiling. It was unsure, didn’t reach his eyes as he looked Dean up and down. He held out his hand and Dean huffed out a sharp breath through his nose, gave the guy, _Paul_ , a look that clearly said ‘yeah, right’.

“Sorry to break up your little party,” he said to Paul. He tilted his head back at Sam, managing to look not at all apologetic. “But him and I got an early morning and we really need to call it a night.”

“Dean,” Sam hissed, low and into Dean’s ear from behind as he leaned forward. “What is your problem?”

Paul either didn’t hear Sam or choose to ignore him, because he backed up a step and held up one hand, palm facing Dean.

“Hey, sorry, man,” he said. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes here. It was just a drink. If I’d known he had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have even tried.”

Dean’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He sputtered as he heard Sam’s surprised intake of breath from behind him. “If he…” Dean said, at the exact same time that Sam gasped out “If I…”

And then Sam let out an amused chuckle and Dean coughed and shook his head, stepped away from Sam so that they were no longer touching.

“No!” Dean said, emphatically, because seriously, no. All kinds of fucking _no_. “No, he doesn’t… and _I_ sure fuck don’t… just no.”

Paul laughed at that and so did Sam. Dean fumed silently, narrowed his eyes and scowled at both of them before he elbowed Sam roughly in the ribs. “Your ass better be in the car in two minutes, bitch,” he snapped, and walked away.

He managed to hear mumbles of ‘sorry about that’ and ‘hey it’s cool’, vague hints of ‘jealous boyfriends’ and ‘in the closet’. He almost turned around to throw a punch square in Paul’s face when he thought he heard ‘call me if it doesn’t work out’, but instead he pushed open the door and stepped outside, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood.

It wasn’t two minutes. It was more like ten, before the passenger side door opened and Sam slipped into the front seat next to him. Dean clenched his teeth tighter and turned the engine over, pulled them out onto the road without a word.

***

“What the hell was that, Dean?” Sam demanded, as soon as the motel room door shut behind them. He stripped out of his coat and shoes, leaving them by the door before he looked at Dean like he couldn’t _imagine_ why the hell Dean had tried to save him from diving head first into the queer end of the pool. Ungrateful little fuck.

“Excuse me?” Dean asked, genuinely shocked. The sleeve of his coat got stuck around his arm as he yanked it down and he wrestled with it for a few seconds before finally winning, tossing it on the floor with too much force. “I was gonna ask _you_ that exact same thing”

“Me?” Sam baulked. “I was just having a friggin’ conversation with someone, Dean. You’re the one that showed up out of nowhere and went all _caveman_. Made a complete ass of yourself, by the way.”

“That wasn’t just _talking_ , Sam. He was hitting on you!” Dean shouted, flailing his arms around uselessly. “And you were fucking _flirting_! You were all… close and touching and... the _dimples_ , Sammy, You gave him the freakin' _dimples_. You looked like you were about to go home with him! And he was gonna…” God, the guy probably thought he was going to… _Jesus_. Dean didn’t even want to think about it. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with Sam?

Sam snorted and shook his head, like this was one of those things that his moron big brother wouldn’t understand, no matter how many times Sam explained it.

“What if I was, Dean?” he asked, grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat down on his bed. “Isn’t that why we went out tonight? To hook up? Blow off some steam? I mean, you certainly seemed to think so, with your little soft-core porn show going on in the corner.”

“Yeah, but… Sammy, I was with a hot chick,” Dean stated, like that explained everything. At Sam’s prompting expression he continued, even as he wished to fucking God Sam wouldn’t make him say it. “And you were with a guy.”

Sam narrowed his eyebrows, all genuine confusion and when he twisted the cap off his own bottle and said “And?” Dean wanted to hit him.

“And? Jesus, Sammy… And?” And how the hell was Sam so freakin’ calm about this?! “Fuck, I need to sit down,” he said, mostly to himself. He fell onto the foot of his bed, almost in a daze. This was fucking _huge_. And bad. Hugely bad.

“He was a guy,” Dean said again, looking straight at his brother. “And you’re not gay!”

Sam snorted and took a sip of his drink, raised an eyebrow. “Seriously Dean?” he asked. “You’re seriously still trying to play that card?”

“What?” Dean asked, getting seriously annoyed. If he knew Sam was going to be this big a pain in the ass, he’d have left him there to fuck Paul in the parking lot. Then maybe laugh at him when he woke up gay the next morning, red-faced and walking funny. “What card? You’re not gay, Sam! Neither of us is gay.”

Sam’s eyebrow, if possible, went up even higher and Dean stood up to kick the side of his bed. Stupid fucking bed. Stupid fucking gay little brother. It was funny. Or, it _had been_ funny, anyway. Teasing Sam about how gay he was, when Dean knew good and well that he wasn’t actually gay at all. Now though… now it was a whole different ballgame, if Sam was trying to score with men, actually, you know… _hooking up_ with them. If that was the case, Dean had to do something.

He sighed and sat back down, ran his hand over the edge of his bed, a fucked up apology for abusing it thoughtlessly. “Okay, fine,” he said to Sam. “We fuck around sometimes. And getting my dick sucked, even by a dude, is pretty awesome. But that’s… I mean, that’s just us, right?” he asked. If there was another reason he really needed that to be true, he didn’t want to look at it too closely. “I mean, that doesn’t count.”

“Aww,” Sam smiled teasingly, and then _winked_ at him. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous. That’s cute, Dean.”

“Fuck you,” Dean snapped. If Sam noticed that Dean didn’t exactly answer, well, at least he didn’t point it out. Which was great, because Dean wasn’t. Jealous. At all. He was just trying to help Sam out here, Jesus. “I just mean, sure, we fuck each other. Sometimes, when we got an itch or whatever, ‘cause it’s convenient. But it doesn’t count, dude. It’s just… we help each other out, it has nothing to do with… And when there aren’t any girls around, it’s _just us_.”

Because if it wasn’t just Dean, and his little brother really was going to home with that guy, if he was going home with other guys, then maybe Sammy really _was_ gay, and… And it had been a good ten seconds now and Sam hadn’t exactly confirmed that he was still completely hetero and Dean’s breath was getting shallow and his heart was beating rapid-fire in his chest. He stopped thinking before he could start to hyperventilate and he put his hands on his knees, looked down and took several deep breaths. After the third, he felt the bed dip beside him and Sam’s hand rubbing up and down over his back.

“Relax, Dean.”

“Relax? I’ll relax when you tell me you’re still banging chicks, Sam.”

“Actually Dean,” Sam said, and smiled like he was enjoying this. “I haven’t had sex with anyone but you in almost a year.”

To say Dean was stunned would have been an understatement. He was fucking _flabbergasted_. He knew Sam wasn’t usually a fan of casual sex, except for with Dean of course, but a _year_? Christ. And it didn’t even make any sense.

“But…” he started, his mouth going dry. He swallowed, licked his lips and tried again. “But I saw you with girls. Saw you hitting on them and flirting and… and a couple times you even took off with them, and didn’t come back for hours! Aw, Sammy,” Dean pleaded, his voice getting sort of high and scratchy. “Please tell me you got at least a _little_ action. Please tell me you’re not gay.”

Sam’s hand gave Dean one last pat on the back before he moved away and took another drink. “Why do you even care if I’m gay, Dean?”

“Why do I..?” Dean sputtered. He blinked at Sam. Tonight had gotten so far away from him, he was having a hard time completing a sentence in his own head, let alone out loud. “Yeah, you know what? If you are, then… that’s fine, Sammy. Really.” Because really it was, and if Hell had indeed frozen over and Dean and Sam could buy a condo in Florida and drink beer on the beach until they died of old age in their sleep, and Sam was somehow suddenly seriously into cock, well then good for him. Dean wasn’t going to hold it against him. Sam would still be his brother and he’d still love him.

“I just… We’d have to… not that we’ve… you know… lately, but…”

“Dean, dude, just spit it out,” Sam said, almost laughing. Fucking _laughing_ and Dean was going through a serious crisis here! And he was going to make him fucking say it. Perfect. Sam was so far from an awesome brother sometimes, Dean was staring to wish he’d been an only child.

“If you are… you know… _gay_ , then we have to stop fucking around.”

“What? Dean, that doesn’t make any sense. If I’m gay, fucking around with a guy would be exactly the kind of thing I should do.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re _not_ gay, Sam,” Dean insisted, sitting up straighter and pointing an accusing finger at his little brother. “And _I’m_ sure as fuck not gay. I mean, I can take choking on your dick once in a while, but it’s a whole new level of seriously fucked up if I think you’ve got secret fantasies of… I don’t know. Running off to Canada and getting gay married!”

Sam laughed. Full on, head thrown back, clutching his stomach, deep belly laugh. Dean punched him in the arm.

“I’m serious, Sammy. If you’re going gay or something, you gotta tell me. ‘Cause I can’t fuck a gay dude.”

“Chill out, man,” he said. His laughter started to trail off, but he was still sucking in deep lungfuls of air. “I still like girls. And I have no desire to settle down and adopt babies with you, Dean. I don’t think I deserve quite that level of Hell.”

“Hey, screw you, man. I’m a catch.” And he was. Except he was trying to make sure Sam _didn’t_ have fuzzy gay feelings for him, so it would probably be better if he didn’t try to sell Sam on how awesome he was. “So, what gives then?” he asked, deciding it would just be best for his mental health to take Sam at his word. “How come you haven’t been, you know, glazing the donut?”

Sam barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Seriously, Dean. Remind me again why it is that girls even go near you.”

Dean just jerked his head expectantly and widened his eyes, the universal gesture for ‘get the fuck on with the answer, bitch’.

“I promise, if there was anyone I actually wanted, I’d be on it. But lately there just hasn’t been. I’m not… like you, Dean. I don’t want to sleep with some girl I’m not even interested in, just because I’m horny.” He paused and smiled. “That’s what you’re for.”

“Okay, good,” Dean said, but his relief was short lived. It didn’t take long for the meaning of Sam’s words to sink in. “Hey! So I’m just some… some random body you use to scratch an itch?” And seriously, what the fuck was he saying? Okay, whatever Sam was on, it must be seriously transferable, because Jesus fucking Christ, _yes_. Yes, that was exactly what Dean and Sam were to each other, at least in a sexual context.

Sam frowned, concerned. It pissed Dean off.

“Dean, seriously. What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”

“Nothing,” Dean bit out, a little too quick. Just because seeing that guy at the bar hitting on Sam had made Dean want to get Sam back here and fuck him six ways from Sunday more than absolutely anything else ever had, was no reason for Dean to be getting twitchy.

And it made sense, he supposed, when he thought about Sam’s reason for not getting any. He _was_ kinda prudish about spreading the love around, so it wasn’t surprising (especially now that he had Dean to scratch those overwhelming itches) that he wouldn’t hook up unless he had some kind of emotional connection with someone. And even before they’d fallen into their arrangement of mutual gratification, Sam had gone epic amounts of time without getting any.  
So yeah, Dean could see that. Except…

“So why that guy tonight?” Dean asked, voice hard and irrationally pissed off. And it _was_ irrational, he knew that. He’d already decided that he didn’t care if Sam was interested in guys and he was always the first one to encourage Sam to get laid whenever possible.

But for some reason, the idea of Sam with Paul, with younger, hotter, better dressed _Paul_ , irked the fucking crap out of him. And not just because he’d have to stop tapping Sam’s big gay ass. Which meant… son of a _bitch_. No, Dean wasn’t even going there.

“There were plenty of chicks there,” Dean went on. “Good looking ones, even and you decide, out of the fucking blue, that you’re going home with a _guy_?”

“Maybe,” Sam answered, without inflection. “I hadn’t decided yet. And then you showed up and went all ‘jealous boyfriend’, which kind of ruined my chances.”

He bit back the ‘you’re welcome’ that was on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, but… why?” he asked instead. 

“You really want to know?” Sam asked. Suddenly he sounded way too serious, suddenly Dean was 100% sure that no, he didn’t want to know.

“Uh,” he said, and swallowed. “Yeah.” Because he was, apparently, a masochist.

“You liked it,” Sam answered simply, and he looked down as a faint blush spread over his cheeks.

“I… what?”

“You liked it. When you were on the bottom,” Sam explained, meeting Dean’s eyes through his haphazard bangs. “And when _I_ was, I… well, if it didn’t hurt so fucking much, I could see how I might have liked it, too. How it might have been good.”

Dean just stared him for a second, taking that in. On the one hand, it was sort of funny, because actually no, no Dean hadn't liked it much at all. Bottoming. He hadn't wanted to look like a sissy, though, or to let Sam... win. Something. Anyway, playing it up had seemed like a good idea at the time. 

On the other hand...

“And you wanted to test your theory out on some random dude? You were gonna let him fuck you?!” And yeah, Dean knew it was stupid. It shouldn’t really matter, the specifics of Sam’s theoretical gay sex with strangers, but it did. The idea of Sam… Sam taking some other guy’s cock… Sam willing to bend over for some fucking GQ reject off a South Carolina interstate… It made his fucking _teeth_ itch.

But Sam did that fucking Sam thing, where he ignored the clench of Dean’s jaw and the twitch in his eye and just shrugged, like he didn’t even notice Dean’s agitation.

“He seemed nice,” Sam said. “Seemed like maybe he’d make it good for me. And since you clearly didn’t a fuck about my pleasure when you had the chance, I figured I wouldn’t be getting much of anything different the next time.”

“I… You…” Dean’s brain was going to turn back on, any second now. It really was.

“It’s not a big deal, Dean,” Sam said as he smiled. He moved closer again, put his hand on Dean’s thigh. “When it’s your turn on top, you do what you’ve gotta do. Just like I do. I don’t mind. And just because I maybe wanted to try someone out who could help me see the pleasure in bottoming, it doesn’t mean I’m gay, or that I’m secretly in love with you or something. So calm down, and lets just… blow each other or something. Let off some steam.”

Maybe it was Sam’s casual mention of ‘trying out’ someone else, or maybe it was Sam implying that Dean couldn’t make it good for him, or maybe it was the reminder of what had started all this shit in the first place. But whatever it was, it snapped something in Dean’s head, thoughts stretched taught and sprung back like a rubber band, because suddenly he knew what he had to do.

“Oh, fuck that, Sammy,” he said, standing up and stripping out of his shirt. He started to unbutton his pants, his rule about only taking off as much clothing as was physically necessary apparently forgotten. “Just… fuck that. Get naked.”

“Err…” Sam said, his eyes shifting away briefly. Good. It was about time Dean threw Sam off his game a little here, considering Dean felt like Sam had pretty much written the entire script tonight. “What?”

“If anyone’s gonna ‘make it good for you’, you big friggin’ girl, it’s gonna be me!”

“What?! Dean, if you wanna fuck, we can, dude. Just… I’m a little worried about letting you near my ass when you’re this worked up.”

“Sam, relax. I’m not gonna hurt you. I am friggin’ _fantastic_ in bed,” Dean growled. He shoved his pants down, stepping out of them to stand in front of Sam, completely naked. He’d never actually done that before, always insisted on covering up whatever he could get away with. He’d never come out and said as much, but all out nudity was a little too intimate for what they shared. “And you’re not gay. So no way in hell am I lettin’ you start goin’ home with guys. Pants off, Sammy. I’m gonna rock your world.”

“Dean, seriously, you don’t have to…”

Dean reached down and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulled him up in a jerk and they both ignored the still half full beer bottle falling to the floor. Dean yanked once more, pulling Sam against him and his arms slid around Sam’s waist.

“Yes,” Dean countered, rotated his hips to catch Sam’s and Sam groaned. Dean felt both their dicks grow a little harder. “I do.” He breathed into Sam’s neck, lips a hair’s breadth from kissing and he felt Sam shiver. He pulled back suddenly and ignored Sam’s slight whimper, the way he leaned forward into Dean’s space. He gripped the bottom of Sam’s shirt, fingers clenching tight around the soft threading of the hem and giving it a hard tug.

“Strip,” he reminded, voice low and hard. “On the bed, on your knees.”

Sam only hesitated for a second.

“Fine.” He pulled his shirt up over and his head and let it drop to the floor, his pants and underwear quickly joining the pile. “But just because you’re trying to prove some fucked up point here, doesn’t mean this still doesn’t count as your turn.”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, helped Sam down onto his bed and stroked a hand over Sam’s bare back when he was in position.

“Whatever,” he mumbled. He flopped down on the bed on his stomach, so he could reach across to the floor, where his bag was. He slid his hand inside the open zipper and   
rooted around for a few seconds before he came up with a half-used tube of Vaseline. It was small, the kind that was supposed to be a lip balm, but whatever. It would have to do.

“Calm down, Sammy. I’m gonna make it good for you. Promise.”

“Why?” Sam asked. He sounded more than a little suspicious, even after all they’d talked about. “I don’t get it, Dean. I mean, you know you can still have this, whether I like it or not.” Which was true. Dean got to fuck Sam and Sam got to fuck Dean and neither of them really went out of their way to reciprocate pleasure.

“God, you’re a moron,” Dean said and thought, for a split second about telling the truth. What he ended up saying was, “So you don’t go gay, asshole.”

Dean couldn’t see Sam’s face, but based on the measure of his breathing and slight shakes through his spine as Dean held his hips from behind, he knew that Sam was laughing silently at him.

“Do you have any idea how fucked up you are?” Sam asked. Dean didn’t answer, just palmed the cheeks of Sam’s ass and inched in closer. Sam was warm against his hands, solid and soft. “You seriously think that by fucking me in the ass and making me like it, you’re somehow going to  _stop_ me from going gay? Even if it _did_ work like that, you’re going at that shit backwards. ”

“Shut up and tilt your ass up, freak.”

Sam breathed out long and low, but he lowered his head and let it sag between his shoulders as he did as Dean asked, arched his back so his butt was tilted at just the right angle for Dean. Fuck, that was kinda nice.

“Okay, so,” Dean said, taking a breath and punching the words out like he was stoking himself up. “Making it good.” It shouldn’t be hard. He made it good for girls all the time. And Sam was pretty much like a girl. Heh.

“Hey,” Sam said, his voice light. “If you can’t do it, I totally understand. Not everybody has talent in the bedroom. I promise I won’t think any less of you, Dean.”

“Fuck off. Okay.” Dean paused, took a deep breath. In. Out. “Okay, I want to try something new. Okay?” He had no idea why he was fucking nervous about this. It was just sex and it was just Sammy. Something they’d done dozens of times. Only this time it was all about getting Sam off, making Sam like it. Sam’s pleasure was the _point_ and not just an added bonus to Dean’s own. And he was a little worried that maybe that shit was gonna make _him_ gay.

“Uh, new?” Sam asked. “New how? New what? You don’t want to do something totally fucked up, like... like fist me or something, do you?”

“What?! Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why would I want to do _that_?” Except now that Sam had gone and said something, a picture formed in Dean’s head, totally unwanted, of what Sam would look like here in front of him, with Dean’s entire fucking _hand_ up his ass, and it was… actually not as horrifying as it probably should have been. Still, no. “The whole point of this bullshit it is to make it good, Sammy, and I don’t think either of us is gonna be able to get off with my fucking _hand_ inside you. Christ.”

Sam sighed in frustration and tilted his head to the side, to look back at Dean. “Dude, it was an example. Don’t fixate. Fine then, what?”

“I uh…” Dean started again and took a breath. Okay, show time. He could do this. “Fuck. Okay. I did this to a chick once, and she seemed to really like it, so…”

“Like what?” Sam asked, and Dean felt him tense up.

Now or never, Dean thought and then mentally kicked himself for being such a pussy. He hadn’t been lying to Sam – he was awesome in bed. He could do this. He moved his hands so that his palms were flat over the creases where Sam’s ass met his thighs, and pushed them up and apart, leaned forward and stuck his tongue out. He pressed it down just behind Sam’s balls, and then licked up along his crack, tip of his tongue sliding into Sam’s hole on the way and pulling out to circle the tight pucker once, before continuing the swipe up to Sam’s tailbone.

“Fuck!” Sam cried out. He jerked forward, tensing up even more the second Dean’s tongue left his skin.

Dean frowned, but didn’t let go of Sam’s ass.

“Sorry,” he said, and then flinched, bit down on the inside of his cheek. What the fuck was he sorry for? He was doing this shit for Sam’s benefit and if he didn’t like it, he could go right ahead and fuck _himself_. “I mean, she said it was awesome, but, if you don’t like it…”

“No!” Sam shouted. “No, fuck Dean. I mean, yes. Yes, it was good. Jesus.”

Dean smirked and bent forward again, this time landing the tip of his tongue right up against Sam’s hole. He pushed it inside and swirled it around, lips closing over the outside of Sam’s rim as he started to work Sam open with short, timid pushes.

It was gross. It was even more gross than when he’d done it for Linda-the-truck-stop-waitress six years ago in Boise, but Sam seemed to be liking it even more than she had, if the needy little whimpers he was giving were anything to go by. Dean got braver then, flattening the strong muscle of his tongue, curling and lengthening and digging in deeper and wider, feeling Sam jerk and twitch and suck in shaky breaths underneath him.

After a minute or two Dean pulled back, licking around the taut skin of Sam’s rim a few times as he felt Sam’s body tremble slightly.

“So,” Dean asked, grinning a smug grin as he lifted one hand to smack Sam on a flat, flushed, cheek. “You like it?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, sort of breathless. “Yeah, I like it. Fuck.”

“Good,” Dean said. He rubbed the flat of his tongue over the roof of his mouth, unconsciously analysing the taste. “Because it’s fuckin’ disgusting from this end. You owe me, bitch.”

“Shut up and eat me, jerk.”

Dean snickered and got back to it. He curled his tongue, straightened and stiffened it, pressed his lips against Sam’s pucker and held his breath. Yeah, it was pretty damn disgusting, but Sam seemed to think it was all _kinds_ of awesome and hey, maybe he’d return the favour some time.

After another few minutes, when Sam’s little keening noises started to become more frustration and less enjoyment, his hips moving back to try to take in more of Dean’s tongue, Dean figured it was safe to try for a finger. He pulled his tongue almost all the way out and slid it back in, index finger of his left hand sliding in with it. Sam tensed up for a split second before he relaxed all at once and tilted his hips up and back, helping Dean’s finger slide in easier.

He reached his free hand down beside them for the Vaseline and squeezed some out one-handed onto two fingers. It was difficult, sloppy and most of the lube ended up on the sheets, but whatever. He got enough of it where it needed to be, so he pulled his tongue free and slid his two slick digits in alongside the first one. He went slower this time and Sam moaned, deep and soft. Dean bit down on the urge to cut out the foreplay altogether and just stuff his dick inside Sam, get himself off hard and fast.

He knew what it felt like in there and fuck but he wanted it again, especially now that he was looking right at it.

But, this time it was about Sam’s pleasure, first and foremost, so Dean kept it up. He figured it was probably paying off though, because Sam was loosening up nicely, jerking back against his fingers, making soft grunting, happy noises. And best of all, he hadn’t opened his annoying mouth in a while. This was always way better for Dean when Sam didn’t talk. Sometimes the kid said things that Dean didn't want to think too closely on.

He pulled the finger from his left hand out of Sam and replaced it with another from his right, then moved his palm over Sam’s ass cheek and around his hip, across his belly and down, wrapping his slick fingers around Sam’s cock. It was hard, not that Dean had expected otherwise, given how much Sam seemed to be liking this, but it still puffed Dean up, a little, to know that it was _him_ getting Sam off like this, that he was _good_ at this shit and here was the proof. And it was definitely an improvement on last time.

“Oh yeah,” Dean teased, unable to help himself as he stroked Sam’s dick. He twisted his fingers inside Sam, tips nudging against his prostate and making him cry out, sharply and jerk. “Told you I was awesome in bed.”

“Eat me,” Sam snarled. Dean laughed when he bucked back on Dean’s fingers, trying to get them deeper inside, angled a bit to the left, where he wanted them.

“Again? Shit you’re greedy. You gotta learn to be a more generous lover, Sammy.”

“Haha,” Sam said, without inflection. His ass clenched down around on Dean’s fingers a few times, experimentally. “Okay, I think I’m ready. Go for it.”

“Go for it?” Dean echoed, but pulled his fingers free and used the last of the Vaseline to slick up his cock in record time. “So romantic.”

“So sorry, Dean,” Sam gritted out. He was still tense, still poised and ready and waiting for Dean to _do_ something already. “Didn’t realise you suddenly needed wooing. I could recite you some poetry maybe?”

“Think you’re so fuckin’ funny,” Dean mumbled, as he lined himself up at Sam’s entrance, and started to push forward. “Here we go. Try to relax, Sammy. The pain’ll pass soon, and it’ll get good.”

And, it seemed, that it did. It got very good. For Dean, definitely, because unlike last time, Sam was actively participating, moving against him, working his hips in a counter rhythm to Dean’s. Before long, panting and grunting and slamming himself back against Dean’s hips just as hard as Dean was slamming forward. It was warm and tight and slick, and as much as Dean hated to admit it, the view was pretty freakin’ great.

Objectively speaking, Dean could acknowledge that Sam was an attractive guy. Hot, even, if Dean was pressed. Not as hot as Dean, but hell, who was? And watching him move around on the end of Dean’s cock, muscles all long and lean and stretching and flexing under smooth, tanned skin… well, yeah, okay, Dean preferred soft curves and softer flesh, plush roundness juxtaposed on delicately firm lines, but if he was stuck with seeing a man in a position like this, he was glad it was Sam.

Hell, there was no way he’d even _think_ about doing this with any other guy.

It probably got good for Sam at some point as well, because when changed his angle just so, slid his hand up over Sam’s cock, palm rubbing over the head briefly before starting up a steady rhythm, Sam kind of let go.

“Yes!” he panted. More vocal, more enthusiastic than Dean had ever heard him before. It was flattering, if a little weird. “Right there, Dean. Fuck.”

Dean snickered and slowed down, changed the way he moved so that he purposely missed Sam’s sweet spot.

“Dean! I swear to God, I’m gonna fucking kill you, if you don’t go back to what you were doing, right the fuck now.”

“Shit, and you call _me_ bossy. Maybe I should take my time, huh? Make sure you know who’s in charge this time.” He was grinning around his words, and even as Sam ground a warning of “Dean…” he was already picking up the angle and the speed that Sam wanted.

Just a few more thrusts, a few more strokes and Sam was crying out under him, covering Dean’s hand with jizz, his entire lower body freezing up and releasing in a series of violent contractions. It wasn’t Dean’s orgasm, wasn't Dean's pleasure, but Dean could feel it anyway, from the outside in, feel the pulse and quake of Sam's Ecstasy. Dean shuddered and closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

Once Sam was finished, Dean seriously considered drawing it out, taking his time before getting off himself, like Sam had done to Dean last time. And he might have, but it sort of felt like stealing his brother’s move. Dean had plenty of his own, and they were better anyway.

So instead he wiped his hand off on Sam’s stomach before grabbing tight hold of his hips. He fucked into him a dozen more times, hard and fast, and came with satisfied grunt, warm and tight and deep inside Sam.

When he was finished he wasted no time pulling out and he pushed at Sam, rolling him over so he could fall down on the bed next to him. His hands fell carelessly onto his stomach, eyes heavy. Sam rolled onto his back and turned his head on the pillow so he was looking over at Dean. They were both quiet for several minutes as the pleasant buzz of orgasm faded.

“Okay,” Dean eventually said, breaking the silence. “So. Good?” Of course it was fucking good. When Dean Winchester set out to sexually satsify someone, they were damn well good and satisfied, so he felt like a tool for even asking, but he sort of needed Sam to admit it. His prowess had been challenged, after all.

Sam smiled slightly, and let a soft puff of breath out through his nose. “Yeah, Dean. Good.”

Dean frowned suddenly when he realised that they were so close they were actually touching. He elbowed Sam in the chest and shifted to put some space between them, because touching at times like these was awkward as hell. 

“Yeah well,” he grumbled. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Trust me, my expectations haven’t changed.”

Dean’s frown deepened, because he really didn’t know how to take that. Whatever. The point was, he hoped he’d made his point.

“So… you don’t need to go testing out your homo tendencies on random dudes, right? Not gay?”

Sam laughed at that. Not as full-bellied as earlier, but he was obviously amused as fuck. And there was a flash of something like apology in his eyes, as well. “No, Dean,” he said. “I’m not gay. And… you do know I was never going to sleep with that guy tonight, right?”

Dean stiffened at that, turned on his side to face Sam. “Wait. What?”

“I wasn’t ever planning on going home with him,” Sam repeated and then grinned, wide and smug. “I was just about to tell him I didn’t swing that way when I saw how pissed you were. Figured I could use it to fuck with you.”

Dean closed his eyes and breathed out long and steady through his nose. Fucking Sam. He should have known. 

“I fucking hate you,” he said, without venom. He just sounded defeated.

Sam laughed and propped himself up on his elbows, leaned forward so quickly that Dean almost couldn’t stop him when he made to bring their lips together. 

“Dude, whoa,” Dean said, pushing back into his pillow and putting a hand on Sam’s chest, stopping him just in time. “I have ass breath.” Which wasn’t even close to the reason he didn’t want to kiss Sam, but it would do.

Sam just raised an eyebrow and bent down to complete the kiss anyway. Dean allowed it for about two and a half seconds, but when Sam opened his mouth to slip his tongue between Dean’s lips, Dean pushed him off and sat up.

He made a face, made a show of wiping his mouth off on the corner of the sheet. “Don’t make a habit out of that shit. Your mouth tastes worse than your ass does.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam mumbled, completely unconcerned as he rolled off the bed, standing up. He walked around the bed in the direction of the bathroom, and stopped to put a hand on Dean’s head, ruffling his hair and laughing when Dean tried to shoo him off.

“Seriously Dean,” he said, when he backed off and stopped laughing. “Thanks. That was great.”

“Okay,” Dean said, sceptically. “You’re still fucking with me, right?”

Sam just smiled at him, all sly and self-satisfied, _winked_ at him again, for the love of fuck and trounced off into the bathroom. The shower started up two seconds after the door closed behind him and Dean heard the off-key warblings of _Livin' on a Prayer_ float out through the spatter of water on tile.

Shit he owed Sam a serious beat-down.

He got up and went to the fridge, cracked open a beer and downed half of it in one go, to get the taste of Sam out of his mouth. It would do until he got his turn in the bathroom to brush his teeth. He leaned back against the counter and looked over at the bed they’d just fucked on. Dean’s bed. And he was going to have to either sleep on the wet spot, or cuddle up next to his brother.

Fucking perfect.

Whatever this game was they were playing with each other, the stakes were getting higher, and Dean had the sinking feeling that he was losing.

And just fuck that. Dean Winchester was macho and manly and didn’t get sucked into bizarre games of gay chicken with his fag little brother. 

“I hate you!” he shouted, hoping Sam heard him over the noisy spray of the shower. He swallowed down the rest of his beer before rinsing his mouth out in the kitchenette sink and falling into Sam’s bed. If Sam tried to snuggle, he’d just have to punch him.

END


	5. Hold Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it happens, there are consequences after Sam tricks Dean into being a little more considerate in the bedroom. Dean's been acting weird lately, and if Sam was more observant he'd probably have noticed. When he finally clues in he pushes his luck a little, and the consequences of that are decidedly more pleasant.

It turned out there were consequences for playing his big brother like a fiddle. For playing on a weird kind of jealousy that Dean would never admit to, and certainly not even be able to understand if he ever did. For tricking Dean into doing things Sam’s way, even when it was Dean’s turn to drive. For making Dean make it all about Sam.

And the first consequence was that Sam was the unfortunate recipient of Dean’s mean left jab.

Granted, that was an indirect result of fucking with Dean’s head the night before. It probably had more to do with the fact that after Sam had jizzed all over Dean’s bed, Dean had opted to sleep with Sam instead of in a “big fucking puddle of my Goddamn brother’s come, dude, that’s disgusting”. What actually set him off was when they woke up in the morning. Or rather, when _Sam_ woke up in the morning. Dean was spooned up behind him, nose actually freakin’ _nuzzling_ into the back of Sam’s neck, arm flung loosely over Sam’s waist, easy and comfortable.

Even that probably wouldn’t have been enough for Dean to resort to actual violence, if he’d just been left alone to wake up on his own, roll away and pretend he hadn’t been the instigator of a big gay, incestuous snuggle. No, what probably set Dean off was the fact that Sam took that opportunity to fuck with his brother’s head a _little_ bit more.

Hey, it was fun.

He groaned, loud and exaggerated enough to blur the edges of Dean’s sleep and then ground back into Dean’s morning erection, rubbing it along the crack of his ass through two thin layers of cotton. Dean shifted behind him and Sam reached his hand around to move along the outside of Dean’s thigh. He felt Dean tense and smiled to himself, made his voice purposely drowsy and way too intimate.

“Mmm, finally,” he said, trying not to let Dean hear his wicked grin. He felt Dean shift and start to pull away as the fuzzy edges of his mind sharpened and he became more aware of his surroundings. “I thought you’d never hold me like this, Dean.”

“Dude!” Dean rasped out, voice rough from sleep but still mostly confused. He sounded embarrassed, surprised and mildly outraged and Sam forced down his smile. “What the…” He sat up then, quickly and Sam bit back a laugh and sat up with him, turned to face Dean and put a hand on his bare knee. 

“Don’t fight it Dean. It’s okay to let yourself...” 

And that was about when Sam’s vision blurred around the edges and there was a dull, throbbing ache through his entire skull. The pain centered on his nose, a sharp burst there where Dean’s knuckles connected, that radiated outward.

“Ow! Fuck, Dean!” he said, mouth opening more from the shock than the pain or the anger. His hand came up to cup his nose, though there was no blood. Even half asleep, Dean knew how to deal a blow, to get the exact amount of damage he wanted. Lucky for Sam, Dean still liked him, even half asleep and pissed as hell. “What the hell?”

“Dude, shut the fuck up,” Dean growled. He looked down at Sam’s nearly naked body and then his own and Sam could tell the moment it sunk in that Dean had been the ‘big spoon’ during the night. “Your queer is rubbing off on me, or some shit. Seriously, Sam, this ain’t funny. I gotta shower.”

Sam did his best to give Dean a look that said “what the fuck was that for?” and “you’re a fucking asshole” simultaneously, but it was mostly lost behind his hand. He pressed his fingers tentatively to the bridge of his nose and pulled his hand back. “That fucking hurts, asshole!”

“Walk it off, bitch,” Dean said, casually as he stood up and crossed the floor to the bathroom. “And get our shit packed. That fucking ghoul in Rock Hill ain’t gonna gank itself.”

Sam listened to the door shut loudly behind his brother and as the shower started up he wondered, not for the first time, why he even bothered. He didn’t need this shit. He actually, honest to God, really didn’t need this shit. It wasn’t like Dean was his only option for sex. He couldn’t even pretend he hadn’t been sabotaging his other options (for reasons that currently escaped him) but they were there. 

He didn’t need Dean.

Sure, Sam loved getting his dick sucked by Dean. He loved fucking Dean. And after last time, he had to admit that he even liked _getting_ fucked. But they weren’t an item. It was convenient and it was fun, that was it. And sure, Sam did sort of prefer having sex with Dean to having sex with random strangers, but that was only because he knew him. He knew it was safe, and he knew what to expect. And... fuck it, Dean was pretty damn good at what he did.

And the real bitch of it, was that now he had Dean - in a convoluted, fucked up, emotionally unhealthy, socially unacceptable way - he was finding that he didn’t really need anything else.

Sure he was still attracted to girls. Exclusively in fact, with the exception of Dean and yes, fine, he could admit that Dean was attractive. As far as belonging to a sex that Sam didn’t find sexually appealing went, anyway. So yeah, girls. 

He saw them sometimes, and thought ‘hey, nice tits’, or ‘bet she’d look great bouncing around on my dick’. But Dean was his brother. He was a dick, absolutely, but he was fun, and comfortable, and Sam loved him more than anyone, and they had really hot sex sometimes.

It wasn’t a big deal or anything, it wasn’t like Sam wanted them to hold hands over a burning corpse, or go out for candle-lit dinners or gaze into each other’s eyes across a circle of rock salt. But he was over the whole ‘smiling wife, white picket fence and 2.1 children playing soccer and baking cookies’ deal. That wasn’t ever going to be his future. He didn’t even want it to be, not anymore. 

So all things considered, Sam could manage just fine if the only person he ever got to fuck again was his brother, but the fact that Dean went through these ridiculous, overly-macho freak-outs whenever they so much as shared a touch that wasn’t with the expressed purpose of getting each off as quickly and efficiently as possible, was a pain in the ass.

He didn’t want to be Dean’s boyfriend or anything, but would it kill the jerk to not be such a damn asshole all the time?

He sighed and got out of bed, started to pack up their things.

***

The second consequence of Sam’s little stunt that night, was that he got cut off. It was funny, in a way, because he didn’t even realise it for almost a month. It wasn’t unusual for them to go weeks, sometimes even longer without getting it on, so at first Sam didn’t think anything of the fact that their relationship had lost its sexual element for a while.

He should have though, he realised when he looked back on it, because lately their fucking around had become more frequent, the lulls between encounters shorter and their fucking a little more direct, a _lot_ more intense.

So yeah, he should have noticed, but he didn’t. 

He didn’t, even a week later, when they got sloppy drunk at a bar (or Dean did anyway, and Sam showed up at two in the morning to drag his ass back to the room so they could get up at sunrise to perform the correct ritual) and Sam gave him that _look_. The one that they’d both mostly come to understand as meaning a quick exchange of hand jobs up against the motel room wall to relieve some stress before a few solid hours of much needed sleep. And Dean had looked at him right back, that twisted up look that said “You wish” clear as a fucking bell, and disappeared into the bathroom for five minutes with the nearest willing female.

Sam had just stood there, puzzled and tried not to shake out of the friendly arm that Dean slung around his shoulder when he came out, licking his lips and smiling, shooting a wink at the lucky girl. Dean played the occasional round of tonsil hockey with good looking women, Sam knew that, and it didn’t bother him. And if she’d jerked him off like Sam had offered to do, well, Dean sometimes did that too. There was no reason to think anything was out of the ordinary.

He didn’t notice a week after that, when the witness they’d been interviewing had been a particularly busty blonde, who made a point of leaning over to give Dean the very best view possible of her ample cleavage, before turning and weeping into her boyfriend’s chest.

Dean had been hard when they got back to the motel, adjusting himself slightly as they walked through the door and threw their shit down on the beds.

“So uh,” Sam started, and looked pointedly at the outline of Dean’s cock through his pants. “You wanna...”

Dean cut him off with a quick jerk of his head and motioned vaguely toward the bathroom. “I got it,” he mumbled, and Sam covered his surprised look with a stilted nod as Dean walked away. He probably looked like an idiot, he _felt_ like an idiot, but it didn’t mean anything, he was sure. Dean was probably just tired.

He didn’t notice a week after that, when they were sitting on their asses on the hood of the Impala, jobless for the first time in a month and a half, sharing a twelve pack and staring out on a cornfield north of Chatsworth, Iowa, watching the clouds roll in over the stars. It was intimate, uncomfortably comfortable.

The whole scene made Sam feel incredibly self-conscious even before he flat out said “So look, I kinda wouldn’t mind if you wanted to fuck me. ‘Cause it’s been a while, and I could use...”

“Pass me another beer,” Dean interrupted, shoving his empty bottle into Sam’s chest.

And that was fine. Dean was thirsty and they’d gone longer without getting each other off, so it was fine.

He didn’t even notice when Dean made a point of only hitting on girls in pairs, and practically shoving one if them into Sam’s lap each time, or when Dean refused to talk to him for the entire day after Sam inevitably turned the girl down. Or when Dean pulled the car up to the curb on a street corner next to a prostitute and asked her, “How much to give my geek brother a quick BJ?”

Sam had stammered, his eyes going wide and apologised, told her, “Sorry, my brother thinks he’s funny, but he’s not,” and glared at Dean until he sighed and kept driving, mumbling something about Sam being ‘prude’ and ‘seriously gay’.

He finally clued in three days after that, when he got back to their room in Janesville after a gruelling stint at the morgue, ready to compare the bizarre stomach contents of their latest victim (23 nails, 200 grams of cedar chips, the a, c and i keys from a Toshiba notebook and a chocolate milkshake) with what Dean had learned from interviewing the annoyingly pretty nineteen year old that had served the corpse lunch earlier that day.

She’d been flirting with Dean earlier and Dean had been flirting right back. Sam found himself hoping, more than just almost, that she’d turn out to be a witch, or a harpy or something, so Dean wouldn’t fuck her in the back of the Impala while Sam jerked off, again and peaked through the motel curtains.

But not because he was jealous, and not because he couldn’t get laid himself if he wanted. He just wasn’t a slut like Dean and he was getting sick and fucking tired of his own right hand. And yeah, Sam might have been getting a little testy recently, but if Dean would stop being so friggin’ weird and just put out already, Sam would definitely feel a lot more relaxed.

When Sam opened the door and pushed through it, shoulder catching on the wood before he shut it behind him, he wanted nothing more than to fall into the bed, maybe get Dean to go down on him and then pass the fuck out.

What he found, was a half naked woman. Slim and shapely, with long, brown hair, just like Sam liked and she was wearing a tiny little black skirt and a bright red push-up bra. She was leaning up against the bathroom doorframe, smiling and him and beckoning him with a crook of her finger.

“Uh... hi?” Sam offered, shook his head and backed up a little. She didn’t look evil, but it was sometimes hard to tell.

“Your brother sent me,” she told him, smiling as her hand trailed down her taut stomach. “Paid upfront, so we’re good for an hour. Whatever you want, however you want it. But you can’t leave marks, and you’ve got to wear a rubber.”

“I... what?!” Sam gasped, shaking his head. “Look, sorry Miss, but there has been a serious misunderstanding here.”

“You don’t want me?” she pouted, very nearly convincing as she rubbed one foot against the back of the opposite thigh. “Dean promised I was your type. Told me if anyone could ‘get you back into chicks’,” and she actually used the damn quotey fingers, “that it would be me. If you want to waste his money, that’s up to you, baby.” She shrugged and grinned. “But if you let me do my thing, I promise you’ll like it.”

Right. Of course. Fucking Dean. Sam really, honestly _wasn’t_ gay, why couldn’t Dean get that? Just because Dean was safe and comfortable, easier and often more enjoyable than anonymous sex with some woman he’d never even had a conversation with, didn’t mean Sam would turn down a girl he actually found interesting and attractive.

“I’m sorry, but no. I’m not...” Sam started, shaking his head as he patted his pocket down for his cell. 

“Like fuck you’re not,” Dean’s voice sounded from behind him. The front door shut then and a slight breeze blew through the room. “You said yourself a couple days ago, you haven’t been laid in a while. And as your big brother, I’m gonna make sure it happens. By a fucking woman. So get your ass in gear, homo.”

“Dean, you...” Sam said, mouth slightly open as he turned to his brother. And what the hell? Had Dean been waiting outside for Sam to show up? And was he planning on watching or something? Not that there was going to be anything _to_ watch…

He didn’t get a chance to finish whatever he was planning on saying though, because Dean was suddenly crossing the room, shoving Sam hard and turning them around, He shoved, kicked at Sam’s legs so he couldn’t get the footing to resist and pushed him, along with the girl, into the bathroom.

“Dean, what..?” Sam started, as the door shut in his face. He tried the handle but it wouldn’t budge. About two seconds later he heard some rustling noises from the other side of the door and then the unmistakable sound of a chair being shoved under the doorknob. “Open this fucking door, Dean!” he bellowed, then blushed and shot the prostitute an awkward smile.

“Not until you get laid, Sammy,” Dean’s voice told him through the door. “You’ve been fuckin’ weird lately, and I'm not lettin’ you out of there until you get some.”

“I... _I’ve_ been weird?!” Sam said desperately, leaning his head against the wood. “Fuck, Dean, you’re the one who -”. He cut himself off quickly and darted his eyes to the girl again, biting his lip. It probably wouldn’t be a great idea to bring up the fact that Dean was the one that had stopped wanting to fuck his brother in front of… well, anyone.

“Less talkin’, more fuckin’, kiddo!” Dean ordered. “Stop wasting my fuckin’ money and get to it. I can hear you, you know.”

“Pervert,” Sam grumbled and tried the door again. No use. Unless he wanted to break it down, which he could, sure, but it probably wouldn’t be worth the look he’d get from the little old lady at the check-in, so he wasn’t going anywhere.

He sighed and stepped back, looked at the girl with a pathetic sort of half smile. “How good are you at faking it?”

She smiled back and if Sam had just met her in a bar instead of having Dean pay for her company, he might have actually liked her. “Sugar, I’m a professional.”

The girl was... convincing. Writhing around against the back of the door, tossing her head from side to side and moaning, not so exaggerated that it would be suspect, but loud enough to be heard. Hell, even _Sam_ was damn near convinced as he watched her chest heave and her breasts come closer and closer to popping out of the top of her bra with each heavy intake of breath.

Convinced, and more than a little turned on by the time she gave her big finish, a high-pitched intake of breath, a thud against the door and a soft, whimpering moan. Sam joined in with a tiny, high-pitched whimper of his own, not because he wanted to weigh in on the act, but because he couldn’t help himself. He had to hand it to Dean, he did have great taste in hookers. This girl, whoever she was, was _hot_.

There was an awkward silence that lasted almost a minute, before Sam shook himself out of it. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then banged on the door, fist tight and efficient, once, twice.

Not ten seconds later Sam heard the scrape and screech of the chair being worked out from under the knob and pulled across the floor. Then the door swung inward and Dean’s grinning face greeted Sam, looked from him to the girl and back again. She leaned a little closer and kissed Sam then, once on the cheek, soft and chaste, before she winked at them both and disappeared past Dean, past the beds and the table and out into the night.

Dean’s face was unreadable after they were alone and for some reason, Sam sort of hoped that the slightly off expression was the bastard love child of jealousy and need. That might mean that they were about to have to some pretty awesome sex. Sam wouldn’t say no to some pretty awesome sex with Dean, right about how.

Sam was fucking _hard_. Clearly all the blood that usually allowed his brain to function had been routed to his dick.

But Dean’s smile just grew and Sam scowled, shutting the door in his face. Fucking fuck. He was going to have to take care of this alone.

He had the presence of mind to lock the door behind him and as soon as he did he had his pants open and his dick out, gripped hard in his fast-jerking fist. He let out a pathetic sounding groan, well on his way to a swift and somewhere-in-the-vicinity-of-satisfying orgasm. Of course, his luck wasn’t that good.

 _Thud thud thud_ came the pounding sound of Dean’s fist on the other side of the door, followed by Dean’s voice. “Dude, are you fucking jerking off in there?!”

“Dean,” Sam whined, letting out an irritated puff of air. “For fuck’s sake, just give me two minutes.”

“Oh my _God_!” Dean sighed. “I really did turn you fucking queer, didn\t I? I mean, I hand deliver you a quality looking piece of ass, Sammy and you can’t even hit that? That chick was hot!”

“I know she was hot Dean!” Sam growled and his fingers tightened around his cock, painfully. It really shouldn’t have given an extra twitch at the sound of Dean’s voice. It really, really shouldn’t have. “That’s why I’m currently beating off in here!”

“Open the door, Sam,” Dean ordered. He sounded... off. Tired, annoyed but sort of fed up and very, very tired.

“Dean, seriously. Just give me two fucking minutes here.”

“Fuck that. I feel bad for your sad ass, so get the fuck out here and let me at least help you out. If you’ve sworn off chicks, at least I can make sure you don’t die never knowing the touch of another human being.”

Sam stilled briefly, then unwrapped his fingers, tucked his erection back into his pants and fastened them up with a wince. 

“Really?” he asked, as he opened the door and took a step out of the bathroom. “Dean, I’ve been...” he motioned vaguely between the two of them, indicating exactly what it was he’d been doing, or trying to do, but not able to actually say it. “For a month. And nothing. So why now?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed at him and he grabbed the bottle of whisky from the table, poured himself a glass and took a swig. “I was really hoping you’d have banged one of the many chicks I’ve been throwin’ at you by this point, so we could avoid this fucked up conversation. But you really are queer, aren’t you?”

There was something in the way Dean said it, like he was honestly half afraid that it might be the truth, like he was desperate for Sam to tell him that it wasn’t.

“And you’re like... in love with me or some shit. Fuck, Sammy, I know I’m awesome in bed, and now I’ve ruined you for everyone else on the planet and all, but dude. That shit is fucked up. We’re _brothers_ , Sam. And I ain’t gay.”

“Still Dean?” Sam asked, incredulous. Alo, half annoyed that his erection was starting to wilt, now that he was actually having a conersation with Dean, instead of just picturing his pretty lips wrapped around Sam’s dick. “Seriously? First of all, I’m not in love you, you freak. But yeah, the sex is good, and it’s convenient. Also? I’m not gay either, Dean and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a man.”

“Could have fooled me,” Dean mumbled.

Sam sighed, but otherwise ignored the comment. “And you like fucking me, right? You like getting fucked by me, and sucking my dick, so...”

“Actually, Samantha, I don’t like sucking your dick. It’s fuckin’ disgusting. It feels awkward as hell, and your spunk makes me want to wretch.”

“And yet you do it.”

Dean smiled and Sam felt his stomach kind of flip over. Sam always like the say Dean smiled. “Well, that’s only because you look so pretty down on your knees when you’re givin’ it back, baby.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Look, Dean I’m not saying you’re gay.” And he mostly wasn’t saying it because it clearly wasn’t true. Also, he didn’t have a death wish. “But maybe it’s time to admit that you might not be entirely straight. Whatever our reasons are, we both have sex with another man.”

“Dude, you are seriously fuckin’ cracked, you know that? Look, the only thing gayer than doing this shit with you is _talking_ about it. So shut the fuck up and open your Goddamn pants so I can jerk you off, get you out of this dry spell and we can go to fuckin’ sleep.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. His eyes were drawn as he tried to piece together Dean’s motivations, figure out how to work it all to his advantage. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dean asked. “We can do this, and then you’ll go back to fucking normal?”

Sam nodded. “If you will. If you’ll stop avoiding me because you’ve got the fucked up idea that I’m on the verge of proposing.” Because that was clearly insane. Sam loved Dean, but he didn’t _love_ Dean.

“Okay awesome,” Dean said, nodding. He held his hand out palm-up and wiggled his fingers. “Come on then. My hand’s still a little fucked up from earlier,” (earlier being when some guy that Dean had taken for two grand in four rounds of pool had gotten a little upset, and Dean had had to punch him, hard in the ribs and caught a bad angle). He flexed his hand again and shrugged. “So let’s make this quick, yeah?”

“No,” Sam told him, shaking his head. No, he didn’t want quick. He’d gone for over a month with nothing but two quick jerk-off sessions and sure, it wasn’t Dean’s fault that Sam hadn’t bothered to hook up with anyone else, but Sam was feeling edgy and lonely and like he wanted something _more_.

“The fuck do you mean, ‘no’?” Dean asked. “I’m offering you a no-strings hand job here, Sammy. My only condition is that you hurry the fuck up about it. How can you say ‘no’?”

“Because,” Sam answered. “I want a blow job.”

“What?! No.”

“Dean, come on. After what you’ve put me through the past few weeks, you kind of owe me.”

“I...” Dean gaped, lips parted slightly and it looked... fuck, it looked good, all open and slack-jawed, the moist insides of his lips glistening in the muted light from the lamp on the table by the bed. And Jesus fucking Christ, Sam’s lack of getting laid was obviously starting to manifest itself in very _very_ bad ways. “What I put you through? Dude, I fucking hand delivered girl after girl to you! Just because you’re too much of a pussy to follow through, don’t take it out on me.”

“Why do you care so much?” Sam asked. “Why is it so important to you that I have sex with someone else?” Even if Sam _were_ gay, what difference could that possibly make to Dean?

“I...” Dean started, shaking his head. “Get the fuck over here.”

Despite his protests, Sam went. Because fuck, even if it was just a hand job, it was probably going to be an _awesome_ handjob. 

“I’m worried, Sammy.” Dean continued, tugging absently at the hem of Sam’s shirt.

“Worried? Why?”

“Because when I’m around, you’re rarin’ to go, and when a hot chick gets on the radar, it’s like... Like your fucking cock disappears. It ain’t right, man. You seriously need to get laid.”

Sam smiled a little at that, nudging Dean back and closer to one of the beds. “That’s actually what I’m trying to do, Dean.”

“You know what I fucking mean!” Dean snapped, pushing Sam away and then balling his fist up in Sam’s shirt, to pull him back in again. Fuck, dealing with Dean was going to give him whiplash.

“So yeah,” Dean said, shaking off the seriousness and trying for a smile. “I’m gonna jerk you off and tomorrow, we’re both gonna score. Maybe sisters. _Twins_. How hot would that be?”

Sam opened his mouth to say, fine, whatever. Anything, so long as Dean`s talented fingers wrapped around his cock, _soon_. But as soon as he did, he went back to his original plan. 

“No,” he said. “No, I want more than that. It’s been a while, Dean. And a hand job ain’t gonna cut it.”

Dean sighed. “Sammy, come on.”

“I want you to blow me.”

“Not tonight, man,” Dean whined. Actually fucking whined. “Can’t you just... fuck me or something? Or... I could fuck you?”

“Seriously?” Okay, it seemed wrong, somehow, that Dean would offer full on _sex_ over a blowjob.

“Well, if you just fucked me, I wouldn’t have to taste you. I could maybe even read a book or some shit until you’re finished. Pretend like you were some hot chick with a strap-on.” Dean quirked a grin and Sam’s teeth clenched.

In all honesty, Sam wouldn’t have minded fucking Dean. Or even Dean fucking him. But the fact that Dean was so adamant about _not_ sucking Sam’s dick just made him want it more.

“If I blow you, do you promise to bang a chick?” Dean asked, eyes hard on Sam’s. “Sometime this century?”

“Dean, that doesn’t even make any sense. I sort of feel bad that you’re so mentally challenged that you can’t see that.”

“Whatever,” Dean mumbled, then his hands shot up to grab hold of the collar of Sam’s t-shirt. He spun them around and threw Sam down on the bed, climbing on top of him as Sam blinked, stunned.

O-kay then.

A few quick flicks of Dean’s wrist and Sam’s pants were open, pulled down to his knees and so were Dean’s. Some awkward fumbling on Sam’s part, countered by Dean’s nails digging hard into the skin of his hips and thighs, and they were both pantless, Dean lying half on top of Sam. Dean’s mouth was open slightly as he licked his lips as he bent down slowly, towards Sam’s hard cock.

“Any time now, sweetheart,” Sam teased. He smiled and Dean looked up at him sharply and scowled.

“Dude, you are so...” was Dean’s only warning before he darted forward. In one smooth motion Sam’s dick was all the way down Dean’s throat and two fingers were shoved squarely and firmly up Sam’s ass.

And fucking fuck, but Sam could probably have died of pleasure if he’d tried. Sure, the first time Dean did this it was awkward. The second time, when he’d fucked him, it sucked hard. The third time, it had actually been really good, after a few minutes. But now... Now, it was unbelievable. Something he wanted more of, something that felt amazing right from the start and only got better as Dean moved, sucked and bobbed and twisted his fingers. Sam jerked his hips up into Dean’s mouth, pushed himself in further and he shuddered and moaned when he felt Dean’s throat spasm and swallow tight down on the tip of his cock.

Dear God yes.

This.

For the rest of his life, this.

Oh, fuck he was in trouble. Maybe Dean has a point about them becoming too dependent on each other for this kind of thing.

Dean’s lips suctioned to his cock, Dean’s work-roughened fingers inside him, Dean’s stark green eyes, filled with more love and annoyance and irritation and Sam was pretty damn close to heaven.

He tried to hold out. He did. He’d done it before, so he knew he should have been able to.

But hell, maybe Dean had learned since then. Obviously he had. Learned how to suck and how to swallow and how to not do either until Sam was so worked up that when he did Sam was lost.

Dean was making noises, the prettiest fucking noises and there was suction and slobber and fingers stretching and twisting and Sam was spreading his legs wider, hands on Dean’s head forcing him deeper, walls opening easier to take Dean in, in, silently pleading for more.

Because while he couldn’t bring himself to say that to Dean, to flat out tell him he was just about dying for Dean’s cock up his ass, he couldn’t deny that he felt it. Sam wanted his brother inside him.

Gay? Yes. Wrong? _Hell the fuck_ yes. But it was clear and getting clearer, a truth that he couldn’t possibly avoid. Dean’s fingers crooked, his throat tightened and Sam just couldn’t hold back any longer. He took a breath, grabbed Dean’s hair, jerked his hips and then everything went white.

His eyes shot open, stared down at Dean as he swallowed again and again and his cock twitched and spurted and he came over Dean’s tongue and down his throat. Sam took a heavy breath, then another and he collapsed back onto the bed, spent and relaxed. Dean pulled off, mouth closing tight and swallowing again, looking at Sam intently.

“Fuck, Dean. Thanks.” Because what else could he say? “That was... awesome.” Oh, that. Well, it really was.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, gruffly. He shimmied up Sam’s body slightly, and Sam felt the distinct outline of Dean’s hard cock and the wetness of his pre-come across his thigh, then his hip.

Sam’s eyes almost bulged at the sensation. Oh, Dean was never going to live this down. Sam smiled.

“Dude...” he said.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Dude. You’re _hard_!”

“Sam...”

“You got hard from sucking me off!” That was like, the best thing ever.

“Yeah, well, that’s only because I was imagining what you’d look like doing...”

Dean jerked back and climbed up Sam’s body, poised so he was straddling Sam’s face.

“This,” Dean finished, as he shoved his dick into Sam’s mouth. 

It wasn’t exactly fun,, Dean fucking his face. It was fast and brutal and it ended with Sam out of breath and choking, tasting Dean’s seed less than a minute later. Sam coughed a little, tried to open his throat as Dean pushed in hard. Relaxed and breathed again when Dean pulled out of his mouth. He was out of breath, gasping, but he didn’t bother to hide the satisfied smile when he saw Dean panting above him.

He could feel Dean drawing heavy lungfuls of air, could feel his own lips all swollen and numb from the force. And despite the horrible taste, and the slight soreness at the back of his throat, it was not actually that bad. Because Dean... Fuck. Dean looked blissed out, _fucked_ out. It was a good look on him, it suited him and Sam had put it there. 

And then Dean’s eyes changed, went from sated and lazy to something different altogether. Predatory, _hungry_ almost, but not for sex, not anymore. 

“Fuck, you look...” he said, choking the words out. He didn’t get the chance to tell Sam _what_ he looked like, because his tongue was suddenly in Sam’s mouth, which was... fucking weird.

Because Dean didn’t kiss him. The twice that he had kissed Dean, Dean acted like he was going to lose his lunch over it, so Sam was half expecting Dean to freak out on him, maybe punch him again. It wasn’t a bad kiss though, far from it, so Sam went with it, opened his mouth to it (which wasn’t hard, since it had pretty much dropped open in shock the second Dean’s lips touched his) and pushed his tongue across Dean’s. 

It was when Sam started to soften the kiss a little, slowed it down to gently bite at Dean’s lower lip that he felt Dean tense. Dean started to pull back, to slip away and on instinct alone (stupid fucking instinct) his arms tightened around his brother’s back, trying to keep him there, keep this surreal moment of intimacy going.

“Dude, get the fuck off me you freak!” Dean growled. He placed his hands on the bed next to Sam’s head, arms stiff as he pushed himself up.  
“You’re the one who kissed me, moron,” Sam shot back.

“Dude, whatever,” Dean said, shaking his head as if to clear it before he pushed off completely, stretching himself out next to Sam. He wasn’t cuddled up, not exactly, but he was within touching distance. “Just... you promised. A chick."

“Yeah,” Sam smiled and stroked Dean’s back, slight and gentle as he started to drift off. “A chick. A hot one. Lots and lots of sex.” Whatever you say, Dean.

“You better not be shitting me, man,” came Dean’s mumbled reply. “Wanna see you do a chick. And get the fuck into your own bed before you pass out,” he added on a yawn.

“Kinky,” Sam grinned and stroked Dean’s back even more gently. If he was feeling a little less sleepy, he’d have accused Dean of being a pervert of the highest order. As it was, he was just happy to drift off, to worry about this strange new… _something_ another day.

And he’d find his own bed tomorrow night.

END


	6. Ride Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam catches Dean in a compromising position one night. Just so happens the moment Sam walks in is the moment it gets good, but that's just coincidence. Sam gets a little jealous and decides to show Dean just how good sex can really be. Dean's not gay for his brother. Obviously. But his dick might be.

Sam didn’t keep his promise. 

No matter how many girls Dean brought back to their table at a bar, or subtly pimped Sam out to while on a case, the most Sam ever managed to follow through with was a quick almost hand job that was aborted before it had even gotten going. It was up against the side of the car in the dark parking lot of a bar just before closing time and Dean knew that it went down like that because he peeked out the window and saw them. Just to check if it was raining though¸ because there had been clouds earlier and he was curious. 

Sure as fuck not because he wanted to catch a glimpse of his brother balls deep in some hot chick. That would be weird.

Dean had managed to round up a couple of classy, beautiful women and Sam had really seemed to be hitting it off with one of them. Okay, so he wasn’t blushing and stammering and subtly shifting closer the way Sam did when he liked someone, but he was at least _talking_ to her. The fact he blow her off right away and go back to the room for more damn _research_ had to mean something good, right?

And when she asked Sam if he wanted to get out of there, Dean grinned, chuckled and tossed the car keys at Sam. He caught them on instinct, blinked and then shot Dean a wide-eyed glare. Dean knew that look. That was Sam’s ‘You got me into this, you get me out of this!’ look, but Dean ignored him, just nodded and smiled and took a huge gulp of beer from his mug.

“Just put a blanket down, hey Sammy?” he said, winked. “Don’t want you messing up my baby’s back seat.”

Sam and the brunnette disappeared out the front doors, her tugging on Sam’s sleeve as he stumbled along behind her.

About fucking time, Dean thought, as he ordered another round from their waitress and shifted a little closer to the dark-skinned, black-hair beauty next to him.

It was going to be an awesome evening; just what they both needed.

It _could_ have been an awesome evening, anyway. If not for the fact that less than ten minutes later Sam was back, shifting into the booth next to Dean and elbowing him in the ribs, _hard_. 

“Come on, man,” he said. “We got that… you know… early morning. We should really get some sleep.”

Dean raised a curious eyebrow, but Sam gave him that _other_ look, the one that told Dean his brother was in trouble and really needed help. And that was something Dean took seriously. Something that was way more important than firm, supple breasts against his chest or soft, sweet kisses behind his ear.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, no hesitation. He apologised to both girls, kissed the one next to him on the cheek and tossed three twenties down on the table to cover their tab. He stood without another thought, ushered Sam out with an absent hand between his shoulder blades, without another look back.

“Ten minutes?” he asked, with a teasing smile when they got outside. “That’s quick even for you, Sammy. I can teach you a little about foreplay, if you want.”

Sam snorted, but was otherwise quiet all the way back to the car. Dean resisted the urge to fill the silence with random conversation and luckily Sam broke it as Dean put the car into reverse, eased them out onto the main road.

“You can’t just...” He sighed, then paused. Dean looked over at him briefly, then turned his eyes back on the road. “You’re not stopping me from anything, Dean.”

“Not stopping you from…”

“If I meet someone I like, you’re not stopping me. But you can’t just expect me to sleep with every attractive girl who smiles at me. I’m not you.”

Dean’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter and pursed his lips together. “So you two didn’t...” He trailed off and waved his hand around vaguely, even though he didn’t have to ask. He already knew the answer.

“We... no,” Sam agreed. “It didn’t work out.”

***

That was almost a month ago now and since then, they’d both seen fucking squat in the way of action.

In a way, that was a good thing. Dean had seen his little brother more than once letting his eyes linger a little too long over a male bartender, or waiter or once, a witness. He hadn’t looked like he was about to jump them or anything, hadn’t even looked to be all that interested, not really, but he’d been… considering. And looking gayer by the fucking minute.

At least Sam hadn’t tried to actually hit on any men since the last time though, because if he had Dean probably would have had to step in again (just to save Sam from his big queer self of course) and he was trying to avoid any fights that weren’t absolutely necessary these days.

Also, Dean was feeling on edge enough as it was without having to worry about his little brother’s disturbingly exclusive taste for cock. _His_ cock. On top of all their regular ‘saving the world’ bullshit, he was feeling pretty damn sexually frustrated himself and he’d made up his mind that no way in hell was he going back to Sammy for any relief. Not until the kid had gotten laid by something with a killer pair of tits, anyway. Hell, it didn’t even have to be _human_. Just female.

He was well aware that what they had together wasn’t natural, or healthy. There were plenty of things wrong with him, but not so wrong that he couldn’t see that. But it was convenient, and it wasn’t actually half bad a lot of the time. Still, it was no reason to forget that they were heterosexual, manly men, who weren’t using their own fucking _brother_ as their only source of sexual release. Especially when there were options – willing and very eager options a lot of the time – of the opposite sex.

Besides, for Dean, there had been girls. Or more accurately, there had been the _possibility_ of girls. He’d taken advantage of a few half-assed fumbles here and there, but nothing beyond third base and certainly nothing that really stood out. Hell, the once that he’d let a girl pull on his dick until he came, back in the bathroom of a bar in Fayetteville, it was barely better than just jerking off to the fold-out insert in the latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties. 

And the way Sam looked at him after made him feel a feeling that he was intimately familiar with, though not in this context. _Never_ in this context. His stomach felt tight and his chest felt too small and the back of his brain itched where he couldn’t ever scratch it. His pulse was thready and he was angry and he couldn’t look Sam in the eye all the next day, because the way Sam had looked at him make him feel _guilty_.

***

Dean didn’t catch the girl’s name. Or he did, he was pretty sure, because it wasn’t like him not to, but he didn’t _remember_ it. In his defence, it was kind of hard to remember anything when he was naked from the waist down, sitting on the edge of his motel bed with a hot chick between his legs, sucking his cock.

He’d stopped off for something to eat and a few drinks while Sam worked his magic in the morgue, with the expectation to meet up back at the room, but that wasn’t for hours. The brunette at the end of the bar had been giving him the eye, and it was late and he was tired, but it had been a while and she looked like fun. Besides, he figured that maybe if he led by example, then Sam would stop pussying out and finally get some, and then they could get back to fucking _each other_ when they got the itch, like normal.\

She was pretty, the girl. Big brown eyes, cute little ass and her lips plumped and puckered pretty damn nicely around his shaft. She’d also made the sweetest little moans when he’d dry humped her up against the inside of the door until she’d come with her head thrown back and her legs around his waist.

She was pretty good at it, the head. Not the best, but not bad. A little too much teeth and she couldn’t get him down as far as Dean liked. He felt like a bastard for the critique, even in his mind, because when a girl gets on her knees, a gentleman damn well appreciates it. Thing was though, they’d been at this for a while.

Almost twenty minutes she’d been down there, sucking and slurping and swallowing him down, making obscene and beautiful noises like a good little soldier, but as time passed Dean could tell her enthusiasm was starting to wane. And quite frankly, so was Dean’s.

It was more than a little embarrassing, and confusing as fuck. For the first time in _ever_ , Dean wasn’t sure if he’d actually be able to get there. He took a breath, closed his eyes and tried harder, relaxed into it and let the sensations wash over him and pull him under, where it was soft and warm and perfect.

Try as he might, the sensations, the sounds, the sight... all his best jerk-off fantasy material about buxom blonde twins, or flexible yoga instructors - none of it was getting him anywhere. And Dean didn’t fucking get it, because it had been weeks since he’d gotten off. 

Six weeks and four days actually, since that last time with Sam. He hadn’t even jerked off on his own in close to three, and he’d been itching for some action,, so he just _didn’t fucking get it_ that now that he had some, _literally_ in his lap, he couldn’t seem to get himself where he needed to be.

He sighed, let out a frustrated whimper and grabbed the girl’s hair gently in one hand. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and cursed under his breath, let his thumb fall down and forward to trace over the girl’s temple and started to gently push her back. He had no idea what to tell her - ‘thanks but no thanks’, ‘I have to get up early, so maybe another time’, ‘Take a class or two and I’ll call you next time I’m in town’, _something_. Maybe nothing at all. He didn’t really care, he just suddenly really wanted to get rid of her and finish up on his own.

And then he heard the unmistakable snick of the key turning in the lock. Half a second later the door opened, just the barest crack and the soft sounds of the slight traffic outside became suddenly sharper. Sam stepped in, didn’t even notice at first that Dean had company, as he tossed his wallet down on the table and Dean froze. It wasn’t that Dean was trying to _hide_ shit like this from Sam, but the kid shouldn’t have been back for another hour, at least. Dean was just surprised, that’s all.

Surprised, and something else, another feeling, one he was becoming uncomfortably familiar with in conjunction with his brother. One he got when Sam turned his head and caught his eyes, tongue darting out without a thought to lick at his bottom lip as his eyes slid down to where the poor, clueless girl’s mouth was still working around his prick. 

Arousal. Which was impossible, really.

Because if the hot brunette with the big tits and the very flexible tongue hadn’t been enough for him, then no way in fucking _hell_ was the sudden sight of his brother going to get him back in the game.

Not a fucking chance.

Except that it did. Holy fucking hell did it ever.

Because after watching Sam’s throat work over a tight swallow and hearing the softest little not-quite whimper from Sam’s mouth, Dean was wrenching the girl back by her hair, tugging on his cock twice with his free hand and coming, hard, all over her face.

But, hey. That was just because Dean had always been at least a little bit of an exhibitionist, right? He got off when he knew people knew what he was up to, got off on getting caught and got off on getting other people off. He had the far off notion that he really should have gone into porn. Anyway, it was absolutely nothing to do with the fact that most of his recent orgasms were somehow connected to Sam swallowing. 

Sam’s eyes widened as Dean jerked a final time and let out a shaky breath. Sam’s tongue stopped its slow glide over his lip and Dean could practically hear his heart beating, see the slight twitch in Sam’s pants when he glanced at his crotch. Something passed between them, then. Something off. Something electric and unprecedented and way too fucking wrong for Dean to spend any time thinking about, but luckily the moment didn’t last.

“That was hot,” the girl said, giggling quietly when Dean started and looked down at her. He’d almost forgotten that she was even in the room. Dean groaned a little as she wiped his come off her face with the back of her hand and Dean heard the hitch and click of Sam sucking in one of his epically bitchy huffs of air. His eyes shot back to Sam’s just in time to see them narrow and grow dark.

“For fuck’s sake, Dean,” Sam said, bitchy and tight, like Dean getting some was annoyingly getting in the way of the giant geek’s quality time with the dictionary and an early night. Which was more fucking like it, and way better than the undisguised _want_ of the second before. “Cover yourself up.”

The girl jumped in surprise and fell back on her ass, turning her head to the door. Dean took the opportunity to grab for the blanket and pull it into his lap while she looked at Sam in shock for a minute, then back to Dean before pulling herself to her feet.

“Look, I’m really sorry,” she said softly, looking back and forth between them, settling on Sam as she headed for the door. “He didn’t tell me he was with someone.”

Sam’s eyes went big at that and despite his sour mood, Dean could tell he was fighting a smile, but he didn’t try to correct her.

Dean did, though. “No,” he said, shaking his head, even though she wasn’t looking at him. “No, baby, you got it wrong! We ain’t... _Fuck_!” The door closed behind her with a quiet thud and Dean sighed and looked down at his lap.

“What the fuck, Sam?!” he demanded, looking up at his brother after a few seconds, with his mouth twisted up. “I was kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Really?” Sam asked. His face was just on the tense side of passive and his voice was strained. “‘Cause it looked like you were just finishing up.”

“Dude, seriously. What’s your problem? You knew I wasn’t alone in here.” And he had. A few times in the past, Sam had walked on in something he really, really didn’t want to see, so they’d come up with a system. A little ‘college roommate’ of them, sure, but it worked. 

Dean had left a napkin on the front dash of the car, a sign for Sam to make himself comfortable and wait it out. Sam saw, he must have, but Sam had ignored it.

“Well maybe _that’s_ my problem, Dean.” 

“Huh?”

“You in here, getting laid. Again. While I’m out at the fucking county morgue until almost midnight, wading through human remains, after knocking around _by myself_ in a graveyard for two hours after nightfall.”

“Jesus,” Dean breathed out, scrunching up his nose. “Didn’t realise you needed a bodyguard, Sammy. Not like I was busy interviewing witnesses or anything.”

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Fuck, you know? For someone who does bitchy so often, you think it’d look better on you.”

“I’m not _bitchy_ , Dean,” Sam said. Dean almost laughed because the expression on his face and the tone of his voice fucking _screamed_ bitchy. “I’m...”

Sam snapped his mouth shut and Dean looked at him, tilted his head. “You’re what?”

“I’m about to get laid, is what,” Sam stated, with a nod. He kicked off his shoes while he slid his jacket down his arms, then tossed it on the chair by the door. “It’s been way too fucking long and I’m sick of sitting around waiting for you to get desperate enough in between conquests to hit me up.” 

He pulled his t-shirt over his head and Dean swallowed down an odd lump in his throat when Sam unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down, stepping out of them. _Nice legs_. The thought came unbidden, without a hint of teasing or malice and Jesus fucking Christ, _Sam has nice legs_. Wow.

His movements were jerky, determined, like he got when Dean teased too much, pushed too far and Sam had something to prove. Only this time, he clearly wasn’t trying to prove that he could crawl in a hole or dig a grave. Dean didn’t know _what_ the hell was going on and he pushed himself further up onto the bed, and held the blanket tighter.

“Come on, Sammy. It’s not like I...”

“Move the fucking blanket, Dean,” Sam ordered, the words almost a growl. Dean clenched his teeth and put his hand down on the bed, tensed and alert and ready to stand up and kick Sam’s ass. And he would have, to (because despite what he said when he was joking around, Sam taking control did absolutely nothing for him, not like this), but at the last second he remembered he was naked from the waist down and he probably wouldn’t look very cool knocking his brother around with his dick swaying in the breeze.

Fuck, Dean had just a pretty damn good orgasm and all he wanted to do was roll over and go to sleep. He was so not in the mood for this.

Sam, however, didn’t seem to care. He shimmied out of his boxers, cock hard and jutting out large and proud from between his legs and he stalked across the room toward Dean. He climbed onto the bed easily and pushed Dean down, worked one leg in between Dean’s and he grunted and shuddered when Dean went stiff, pushing at Sam and refusing to let him slide in on top of him.

“Dude, no fucking way,” Dean said, shaking his head and digging his fingers hard enough into Sam’s bare shoulders to make him wince.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam growled. He nudged his knee up far enough to touch Dean’s balls and Dean sucked in a sharp breath. He stiffened and cocked his chin and narrowed his eyes because no. No, Sam wouldn’t. He was a little bitch sometimes and he was obviously going through some sort of jealous temper tantrum at the moment, but he wouldn’t knee Dean in the nuts. That was some damn precious merchandise there, merchandise that Sam readily enjoyed. He’d only be hurting himself, right? “Spread your damn legs. You’re not exactly making this easy.”

“Yeah, I’m not trying to, asshat. I don’t want to do this at all, Sam, but if you wanna fuck that bad, then hop on, pal. It’s my turn.”

“Your... what? No it isn’t! Last time you fucked me!”

“No,” Dean explained slowly, like Sam was either stupid or having memory problems. He shoved him off so he fell to Dean’s side. “Last time was your turn, and you wasted it on a fucking blow job.”

“Are you kidding me right now? You’re actually keeping score?! Seriously, Dean, just...” He stopped talking enough to climb on top again and shove his way between Dean’s reluctant legs. Dean grunted in frustration and when Sam’s hard dick nudged against Dean’s soft one, he didn’t, fucking _didn’t_ , open up and let him closer. Not on purpose. It was just that he’d come only a couple of minutes ago and his limbs were very Jello-y and Sam had an unfair advantage.

Dean took a breath and focused, ignored the interested jerking of his dick and put one hand on Sam’s chest, the other pinching into Sam’s hip. “I swear to God, Sammy, I will kick your ass if I have to.”

Sam paused, holding his hips back mid-roll. His arms didn’t move from where they were resting on either side of Dean’s head, pinning him to the bed but he did let up on the pressure. Probably because he was pretty sure that Dean really _would_ kick his ass, if Sam pushed too far. 

“Dean, come on. You _just_ got off. You can’t top this time. You’re not even fucking hard right now!”

“Yeah! And so what exactly makes you think I wanna fuck at all?!”

“And what makes you think I give a shit what you want at the moment?”

That... actually hurt. Which was stupid he knew, because no. He and Sam, as a rule, had never really cared if the other one was in the mood. If they could get some action, they went for it, knowing they’d have to reciprocate at some point. In five minutes, or in a week, whatever, but their main goal was getting _themselves_ off. Not each other.

Still, put bluntly like that, coming from Sam’s lips and not his own, it stung. And Dean had sort of thought that… Fuck it, Dean didn’t know what he’d thought. He was obviously wrong. He stifled a groan and tried not to place a hand protectively over his newly sprung uterus. Fucking Sam, leaving his goddamned girliness out all over the place for Dean to trip on.

Sam must have seen the flash of hurt in his eyes, the surprise and the way Dean shut them both down, not quick enough. He stopped moving again, eyes calmer as he moved to give Dean a little more space and put a soft hand on Dean’s hip. Dean’s whole body jerked away from the touch and this time it was _Sam_ who looked hurt then at Dean’s dismissal.

“Look, Dean,” he sighed. “It’s not like you hate this. And it’s been a while for me, and... Fuck, you get sex all the damn time! Especially lately. And just because I’m not sleeping my way across the Goddamn country doesn’t mean I don’t want to get some once in a while!”

“Go ahead!” Dean agreed, nodding vigorously, but he loosened his legs and Sam slid in more securely. “Get some, Sammy. Please. That’s actually what I’ve been trying to help you do for _months_.”

Sam ground his teeth together and took in a deep breath. “I don’t want to sleep with strangers, Dean! I want...”

Dean swallowed again and his throat went tight, because the way Sam was looking at him was dangerously close to that moment they shared when he almost shot jizz up Hot Brunette’s nose a few minutes ago because his dick didn’t know how to do its job until his little brother showed up. Not fucking cool. Stupid fucking gay-ass dick. He needed to do some more training. Reps, maybe. Jerk off to lingerie ads in the morning, then again at lunchtime. Twice before bed. 

Thank fucking God, Sam decided to grab a clue and snap the fuck out of it.

“You’re easy,” he said with a smirk and even though it was forced, Dean appreciated it. So much so that he didn’t bother pointing out that Sam was working harder to get Dean to spread his legs than he would have had to with half the girls Dean had introduced him to.

“Come on, Dean. You put out for just about every complete stranger who asks, and I’m your damn _brother_.”

“Wow. Dude, can you even hear how _wrong_ that sounds.”

“Oh God,” Sam groaned, bracing his arms to push himself up. “Forget it. You’re right; this is just... a horrible idea. We shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place. I can’t believe I… You’re right. Sorry.”

“Hey,” Dean said, shivering as a seriously uncomfortable wave of guilt washed over him at the dejected look on Sam’s face. He didn’t have a fucking thing to feel guilty about, and Sam’s _woe is me_ attitude was starting to grate.

He put a hand on Sam’s arm and when Sam paused over him, Dean ducked his head, looked away, because eye contact right now? Hell no. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he growled, wanting to tweak Sam’s nipple almost more than he currently wanted to make him feel better, “but I actually haven’t been sleeping around. A little over the sweater action with one chick, a quick hand job with another, and the BJ you just walked in on... That’s it, Sammy. Just three girls in all this time and the only one I’ve actually fucked since I first fucked you, is you.”

Sam was still, silent for a considering moment and then he blinked and licked his lips. “Why does it sound like that hurts for you to say?” he asked quietly.

“Because it does!” Dean didn’t quite shout. “Fuck. I can’t even drum up the enthusiasm to fuck a chick that looks like she could have been in an Alice Cooper video, and trust me,” he mumbled, letting out a mirthless chuckle, “she fucking offered, man. In detail. And all I can do is say ‘no, it’s cool. Just finish me off now’. And then I can’t even _actually_ finish until... What the fuck is wrong with me, man?”

Sam smiled at that, real and sweet, with those damn dimples of his and everything. It didn’t make Dean’s stomach kind of flip over, he just wanted to point that out, for the record. 

“I could make a list,” he offered. “Alphabetical, or chronological. Maybe by importance. I dunno, dude. There’s a lot. I might have to cross reference.”

“You are such a fucking geek.” Dean said, but he was smiling right back, starting to relax a little.

“So can I fuck you?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Fucking... fine,” Dean sighed. He shifted so that Sam was nestled between his thighs, stiff cock brushing up beneath his balls. “Just make it quick, would ya?” He motioned vaguely to his own soft dick. “I’m not exactly in the mood here.”

Sam smirked and reached over to the table to grab the hand lotion and poured some out onto his fingers.

“I think I can fix that,” he said. Five seconds later Dean was sucking in deep, shaky breaths as three of Sam’s fingers pumped in and out of his ass.

“Jesus fuck!” Dean gasped. “A little warning, Sammy. Maybe a bit more prep, eh?”

“Awww,” Sam teased and clucked his tongue, twirled his fingers to hit Dean’s prostate and Dean cursed and bucked. “Need me to go slow and gentle? And you always call _me_ a princess.”

Dean scowled. Sam’s teasing wasn’t mean, but that almost made it more annoying.

“Just fuck me, asshole. And make sure it’s worth it, because next time...” He let the threat hang there, as Sam positioned himself, tried to ignore the sharp burn that came from Sam shoving one, two, three fingers inside him in rapid succession and he bore down against the blunt head of Sam’s dick.

“God, Dean...” Sam groaned and worked his way slowly inside while Dean tried to relax. It wasn’t bad. Really it wasn’t and Dean knew that if he could just let himself go, he’d really enjoy it. Sam had seemed to the last time, right? “So fucking good.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said tightly. “I’m awesome. Now just... quicker, alright? Let’s get this over with.”

“Oh, Dean...” Sam said, the words coming out on a breath right into Dean’s mouth. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Dude, you...” Dean started and then shut his mouth when Sam’s hand wrapped around his dick. He pulled gently on it as he slowly fucked into him, hitting his prostate every few strokes until Dean was starting to get hard again. And nearly in the mood, too,, despite his reservations. Fucking Sam. Why the fuck couldn’t he just get off and let it go? Why did he have to drag Dean into his big gay sex?

“Want you hard, Dean,” Sam answered, sounding more and more breathy. “Come on.”  
“Why?” Dean might or might not have bucked up into Sam’s hand extra hard, might or might not have pushed back on his cock, burying it deeper inside him. Probably not. “Not like you need me hard to get off in my ass, Sammy.”

“No,” Sam agreed, shook his head almost violently. Dean smiled, because his little brother lost with lust all because of him was pretty friggin’ cool, he had to admit. “But I need you hard if I want to ride your cock.” 

Dean opened his mouth and let out a choked off gurgle, cock pulsing and jerking, slapping against his own stomach as he tensed and bucked underneath Sam. Because seriously? Holy fuck. Sam was _not_ playing fair.

“And I’m gonna, Dean,” Sam continued, pushed into him hard, made Dean whimper. In a totally manly way of course, that had nothing to do with getting off on getting ass fucked by his brother. It was just... a surprise. “Gonna get you hard, ride you hard, make you love it.”

“Fuck,” Dean breathed out, a hiccuping, choked off sound. “What the fuck, man? When did you go all ‘slut for dick’ on me?”

More importantly, when had that become a turn-on for Dean?

Sam shrugged and thrust in again, ran his thumb over the tip of Dean’s fully-hard cock. They both shivered a little as the slight wetness was spread around the swollen head. “I like it. Feels good, you know? It’s not a big deal.”

Sam brought his hand up to his mouth then, stuck his thumb inside and sucked, lips puckered and eyes fluttering closed, like the taste alone could bring to orgasm. Dean didn’t even think he was capable of expressing just how wrong that was. Sam didn’t like jizz. Dean _knew_ that. Sam had been complaining for _months_ that the taste of Dean make him want to puke.

It was an act, Dean was certain, but it was convincing and it threw him off. Sam was clearly working on one hell of a mindfuck, but Dean couldn’t figure out why, or what the endgame was.

He was already getting sex. It didn’t make sense.

“Okay, dude,” Dean panted, squeaked a little when Sam’s finger trailed down his shaft just right. “Not fucking fair. You’re actually trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Sam smiled a lazy smile and opened his eyes, his hand landing on Dean’s neck, all soft fingertips and tentative movements. Dean twitched a little, but tried to hold still. Yeah, this was fucked up, but letting Sam know just how fucked up he thought it was would only make him look like a pansy. Like maybe he was reading more into things than Sam meant.

But then Sam’s hand slid upward, Sam still fucking into him slowly and the barest scrape of nails trailed over his collarbone while Sam leant down and kissed the side of his jaw, his chin, his neck.

“Dude,” Dean coughed, hands on Sam’s shoulders and pushed back enough so Sam could look at him. “Did you just _caress_ my _clavicle_?!”

“Uh...”

“Look, you may be fucking me in the ass right now, but nobody is _that_ Goddamn gay. Knock that shit the fuck off.”

Sam smiled at that, chuckled a little and hissed softly when he pulled out of Dean. He worked his legs one at a time, pushed Dean’s legs together so he was straddling him and shimmied up his body, stopping with his inner thighs pressed tight to Dean’s hipbones.

And the way it felt when Sam sunk down on him, one slow, solid movement, no lube or anything but for the excessive amount of pre-come leaking from Dean’s tip, was _so fucking good_ that Dean wanted to hit something. If getting fucked by Sam was _okay_ , getting blown by Sam was _good_ , and having his dick up inside Sam’s ass was... _fucking phenomenal_.

Not that he’d be admitting that out loud. Because hell, being up inside a hot chick was ten times better. Really.

His hands were on Sam’s hips before he knew it, guiding him as Sam rocked. Up and down, back and forth, tilting his hips to get the best angle as Sam’s hands cupped Dean’s face. Dean held still, didn’t breath for long seconds as Sam leant down again, and kissed Dean on the mouth.

Dean didn’t kiss back of course, just held still, prayed for Sam to get a fucking move on and bring them both off, but Sam kissed him again, fingers sliding back to tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Dean groaned and his eyelids fluttered shut when Sam’s tongue slid out, licked along the crack between Dean’s closed lips and pushed.

“Dude... no,” Dean bit out, wrenching his head to the side.

“Why not, Dean?” Sam demanded. “Why can’t you let us have this?”

“By ‘this’” Dean said and gripped Sam’s hips tighter when he thrust down on him, viciously. “I assume you mean you fucking with me by acting like my big gay lover, instead of… Of what this really is?”

“I’d never make that mistake, Dean. Don’t worry,” Sam answered. He didn’t lose his rhythm over Dean for a second, just kept bouncing, shifting, muscles clenching and relaxing and driving Dean closer and closer to the edge. Which was tremendously unfair, because Sam should be the one to get there first, what with Dean having just gotten off and all. If he lost it before Sam he’d never live it down.

“Well… good.” It was a comeback right up there with the likes of ‘your face’, but Dean couldn’t think of anything better to say, mostly due to Sam’s tight ass clenching down around his cock. Fuck, but his brother was one hell of a lay. Objectively speaking. He kind of owed it to the female population of the world to get him out there fucking some of them. The gay population as well, maybe, but that was just a whole world of _no_ , right there.

Sam licked up the side of Dean’s neck, slowly and swivelled his hips in a soft circle, pressed back and down and sat his ass flush against Dean’s skin. “I know what this is, Dean,” he said. “I don’t have any illusions. I know what we are to each other. I’m not even asking you to stop sleeping with other people, so don’t freak out and think this is more than it is, that I’m asking you for more than you can give.”

“Sammy...” Dean said, grunting when Sam lifted up and came back down, slammed his own hips up to meet him halfway so the force knocked Sam’s teeth together.

“I just...” Sam started and licked Dean’s neck again, kissed it and his fingers moved through Dean’s hair. “Would it kill you if we could make this nice once in a while? Actually connect a little instead of just treating each other like blow-up dolls?”

“Dude!” Dean baulked. “Sex with me is always nice!”

“No, Dean, it’s not,” Sam told him, sounding a lot more himself, less like the cock-hungry slut who’d thrown him down and started using him like a cheap whore. More like his kid brother Sam, who was arguing with him about a case, or a meal, or what to watch on television. 

“It’s good, I”ll give you that,” he went on. “Okay,” he added at Dean’s raised eyebrow, “it’s pretty fuckin’ great a lot of the time, but it would be better if you could just... lighten the hell up and actually admit that you like it. With a guy. With me. This macho ‘I’m not gay, I only like pussy’ thing is getting really damn old. If you hated as much as you say you do, you wouldn’t be doing it at all.”

“Dude, shut the fuck up, would ya? You know what would make this shit _nice_ for me, Sammy? If you’d keep your fucking yap shut and fuck me already.”

Sam let out an agitated sigh, more like a growl, really and Dean bit back a smile. “That’s what I’m talking about, Dean. We’re fucking and that’s not gonna change no matter how macho and cool you are about it, so just drop the fucking act. Relax and enjoy it.” Sam broke off to kiss Dean’s neck again, open-mouthed and teasing, tongued along the vein. 

“Dude, seriously,” he groaned. He and absolutely did _not_ push his neck up into Sam’s mouth. “Just come on and fuck me, Sam. Harder. Really ride me. Fuck!” He cursed and his hands worked over Sam’s back, fingers scrabbling and digging into the flesh when Sam started moving again, still slowly, but at least moving.

Dean’s breath hitched and he jerked up harder into Sam when Sam bit down gently on his jaw. Damn, but Dean was always a sucker for that. So far, Dean and Sam hadn’t learned too many of each other’s erogenous zones, at least not the ones above the belt, but that was clearly changing.

Sam kept rocking steadily, didn’t change his pace no matter how much Dean rocked underneath him, bucked up and tried to make it faster, harder, deeper. He ignored Dean’s pitiful whimpers and half-assed demands and fucked himself on Dean, lazy and sweet, kissed across Dean’s cheek to his mouth.

He didn’t even get frustrated when Dean turned his head, avoiding the contact. Just kept meeting Dean’s thrusts, kept panting softly, volume and rate increasing slightly and he kissed him everywhere else. His cheek, the corner of his eye, his jaw and Dean was babbling, he _knew_ he was but couldn’t fucking stop himself.

“Come on, come on,” he kept saying, like he couldn’t get enough, like he _needed_ Sam’s ass around his cock and Sam’s hands on his shoulders and the back of his neck. Sam’s lips against his skin made Dean quake and shiver, made him desperate and Dean just wanted it to be fucking over. It was too much, too good, too close to something that Dean didn’t want to admit and Sam was forcing it from him.

He felt oddly violated and at the same time completely at home. 

“So much for...” Dean panted, straight into Sam’s ear and Sam shivered. He bucked violently and sat up, stretched out and Dean slipped even further inside him. “Oh, _God_! So much for... not asking me for more than I want to give.”

Sam smiled and moved his hands backward, placed them on Dean’s thighs to brace himself, back bowed and body stretched taut, giving Dean an excellent view. Dean would deny it to his dying day, but good friggin’ God, the view _was_ excellent. Sam was a damn good looking guy, objectively speaking.

“I said I wouldn’t ask for more than you _could_ give, Dean,” Sam reminded, raised his hips and slammed them back down again, making Dean groan. “And I won’t. Ever. I Didn’t say anything about what you _wanted_ to give.”

“You’re a real douche, you know that Sammy?”

Sam’s sly smile turned honest for a moment, but then almost faded altogether. “Dean I... This is supposed to be fun. If it’s not, if this is really more than you’re comfortable with, you gotta let me know. I know we’ve been pushing each other since we started this... whatever this is, but if you _really_ don’t like something, tell me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “Just fuck me, Sam. You’re actually gonna start growing tits in a minute if you keep this shit up.”

And then Sam’s smile turned sly again, his fingers digging into Dean’s legs and he went to town. Rode Dean. Really _rode_ him, like he was at a damn rodeo. Bounced up and down on his dick like he was a fucking amusement park ride. Took it all, hard and fast and made it look _good_. Made it look like something maybe Dean would want to try.

In another lifetime, where he actually liked dick.

It was kind of a blur after that, but he was pretty sure he managed to grab Sam’s dick at some point, jerked him off with the same hand he’d used on himself earlier.

Sam was keeping up a pretty steady litany of ‘fuck, yes, God, Dean, right there’, or something along those lines and Dean honestly had no idea what he was saying, but he was sure it was something pretty similar. And maybe, just maybe, the words ‘best sex ever’ were in there somewhere, when Sam spilled hot and wet over his hand, and he shot his load deep inside his brother, but probably not.

Because this was not the best sex ever. Dean reminded himself of that when his heart rate was slowing, when his breathing was evening out, when he was pushing a sticky, sweaty, big little brother off him and he was able to think clearly again.

No, the best sex ever was most definitely with a girl. A soft, pretty, girl - Lisa was her name - with a nice rack and a wet pussy. Not with a huge, hard man who was a close blood relative. ‘Cause that was just sick.

Sam collapsed beside him on the bed, breathing heavy and smiling and Dean’s chest felt heavy, his ribs too tight. He tried to take a breath, but it went in wrong and he panicked, felt like the walls, the ceiling, the entire room was closing in on him. He scrambled off the bed, wiped his hand off on the sheets and raced to get his jeans on.

He needed to get the fuck out of there, because that? What just happened? Was so not cool.

“Dean, what are you..?” Sam asked, pushing up on his elbow to watch Dean stuff his wallet into his back pocket.

“I... I gotta get outta here for a bit,” he said, voice scratched and rough. Instead of biting his lip and running, like he wanted to, he called up all his bravado and smirked. “Your gay seems like it’s looking to recruit, and I sure as fuck don’t want to be in the hot zone.”

“Dean, really. It’s not a big deal unless you make it one. We just fucked, same as we’ve been doing for over a year now. It’s not like we got married or anything.”

"Sam!” Dean snapped, and Sam’s body shuddered, jerked like the word was a physical slap, and Dean sighed. “Sorry. I just... We’re cool, Sammy, I promise. _I’m_ cool. I just need some space right now.”

“Dean, it’s one o’clock in the morning.”

“Last call isn’t until two at the bar down the road,” he said, smiling weakly. “Might not be so late that all the hot chicks are taken.” It was a lame excuse and Sam knew he didn’t mean it, but he needed to save a little face at the moment.

“Well, have fun,” Sam said, wiping himself off on the dirty blanket. He crossed the distance between the beds with one foot on the floor and slipped under the clean set of sheets. He looked sleepy and sated and the bed looked comfortable, but Dean was just not going there, not now.

“Just remember where your ‘best sex ever’ came from,” Sam mumbled into his pillow. Dean could hear the smug smile and he groaned to himself, imagined all the hot sex with all the hot, drunken bar patrons he could have. He knew he wasn’t going to follow through, even if Sam was totally asking for it. And the fucked up thing, was that right now he was actually pretty glad Sam hadn’t been sleeping around with all sorts of girls like Dean had wanted him to. Even if it did make Sam ragingly queer.

He could live with a gay brother, he supposed, as long as Sam stopped trying to turn _him_ gay too.

“I hate you,” he said, easy and lazy and so very tired of all his own bullshit. He didn’t even bother trying to sound like he meant it. It was pretty much tradition at this point. He heard Sam laughing as he shut the door behind himself and figured the Impala would be a good place to sleep, if he got a few more beers in him.

END


	7. Bite Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets a girl he actually hits it off with, and Dean gets a taste of his own medicine. Which is fine, because that's what Dean's been after for months. It's fine until it changes everything, and then it isn't anymore. Because maybe Dean and Sam actually are a little gay for each other. Probably not, but maybe.

Sam was finally taking Dean's advice.

Well, not so much taking his advice (because Sam knew better than to do that, pretty much ever), as actually finding himself genuinely attracted to a woman, and asking her out for a drink that night.

He’d met her at the grocery store, stocking up on some essentials like shampoo, bread, apples and beer. Things that would serve as staples for the next few days, until they blew town. She was in line ahead of him in the one and only check-out that was open and in the five minutes they had to talk before the cashier rang her purchase through (mostly about the candy bars and magazines that were set up for impulse shoppers) Sam decided that he liked her.

She thought Brad Pitt\s new baby was adorable and she didn’t believe that new maple syrup and cayenne diet would help anybody lose a single pound and she liked to read Oprah and she managed to add up all Sam’s purchases, plus the tax, in her head to within forty-seven cents. 

She was nice. Pretty enough and had a nice smile and she seemed smart and interesting and easy to talk to. Her name was Carrie.

And spending a couple of hours with someone who wasn’t Dean - and wasn’t either a suspect or a witness - was pretty damned appealing. And if he got laid, then great. And if not, he always had Dean to fall back on. Sometimes it was really nice to have a brother.

With that completely disturbing thought, and Carrie’s number in his pocket, Sam shook himself and handed over two twenties to the cashier.

***

“Is that her?” Dean asked, nodding over Sam’s shoulder and wiping the beer foam off his top lip as he put his mug back down on the table. “Please, tell me that’s not her.”

Sam turned to the door of the restaurant, expectant at first and then clenched his jaw. A woman who had to at least be in her sixties, with silver hair pulled back into a sleek, low bun, and wearing an extremely age-inappropriate tight, red dress crossed to the bar and sat down, signalling the bartender for a drink. 

“Funny,” Sam said, turning to Dean with a scowl.

“Well, hey man,” Dean said, chuckling. “It’s been a while since you hooked up. Figured you might be getting desperate. Besides, I thought old ladies did it for ya.”

God, that was _one time_ he got hit on by a senior citizen. And that was _years_ ago. Was Dean ever going to let that go?

“Shut up, Dean.”

Dean’s first reaction, when Sam had told him that he had a date that night, was to blink slowly and then double over in a fit of laughter. He refused to tell Sam what was so funny, just mumbled “fucking finally” and made some crack about ‘playing safe’ and ‘no glove, no love’. Which was completely stupid anyway, because if Sam fucked _Dean_ without protection, he sure as hell wasn’t worried about the spread of disease.

Okay, so that wasn’t true at all. Sam would never sleep with _anybody_ else without using protection. Hadn’t, not ever in his life and he never would. But Dean didn’t need to know that.

He was meeting Carrie here at eight o’clock. Dean suggested him and Sam have supper first and “Hey, might as well just eat there, so you don’t have to worry about movin’, right?”. Sam would have had to have been a lot stupider than Dean gave him credit for not to see right through that. Dean obviously wanted to check her out.

Like Dean was his father, and needed to approve Sam’s company or something.

Or maybe like he had a problem with it. Like he didn’t want Sam to go on this date. As stupid a thought as it was – and it was, Sam knew that the second it crossed his mind – he sort of wished it was true. There was a part of him that wouldn’t mind it Dean got a little jealous once in a while, if he _cared_ whether Sam did or didn’t see other people. 

If he wanted Sam not to.

Wow. Dean was right; he really was a girl. Not only did he have big gay sex with his brother, and _like_ it, but he was starting to develop some seriously disturbing emotional attachments as well. Maybe Dean had a point. Maybe he really did need to get back out there.

As if on cue, Dean kicked his foot under the table and nodded again. “What about her?” he asked, this time looking genuinely impressed, rather than amused.

Sam turned, smiled and waved when he caught Carrie’s eye and she smiled back and started towards their table.

Dean graciously stood when she got there, touching her on the arm and smiling, offering her his seat. “I’ll just leave you two crazy kids alone,” he said, grinning at Sam. He waggled his eyebrows and made a lewd gesture with his hands that made Carrie laugh and Sam roll his eyes.

“I’ll see you later, Dean,” he said, pointedly. 

Dean’s jaw ticked. Just a little, but it was unmistakable and he hesitated for a split second before he gave Sam a mock-salute and took off.

***

The date was alright. Pretty much how Sam expected it to be. The conversation was easy and natural, Carrie was funny and honest and Sam was vague and closed off and spent a great deal of time deflecting attention.

She asked him about him, about all the things you’d normally ask a first date, but Sam couldn’t really answer. She asked what brought him to town and he had to lie. Asked what his plans for the future were and he honestly didn’t know. Asked about his relationship with Dean and was it hard, just the two of them together all the time, but Sam had to fight the urge to tell her that he was actually pretty okay with it.

And somewhere between the second round of red wine and the cheque, Sam figured out what Dean had thought was so funny about Sam having a date. Realised, again, why Winchesters avoided that kind of thing. Random hook-ups for sex were more than fine, but a date? Something that required conversation and a mutual give and take and held the potential for something more? Yeah, that was just an all around bad idea.

It was a tease. It was cruel.

He told her so. Told her he was leaving town in the morning and he didn’t want to lead her on and she smiled and asked, “But you’re not leaving tonight, right?” before she offered to take him somewhere a little more private.

‘More private’ turned out to be the alley out back, between the restaurant and the late night record shop next door, and Carrie turned out to be a whole lot sluttier than Sam had pegged her for. Not really so much his type, afterall.

Dean turned out to be a whole lot more voyeuristic than Sam had ever thought, which was why ten minutes after they’d gone outside, with his back to the wall and Carrie’s hand down his pants, Sam finally started to really get into it.

It was good from the start. Of course it was. A reasonably attractive girl was pressing him against a wall and sucking on his neck and hey, when was that not good? Something didn’t feel quite right about it, though. Something was holding him back, nagging at the back of his mind, telling him to go back to the room, curl up with his laptop and a movie and Dean in the other bed.

He thought about stopping, maybe suggest they go somewhere more private that actually _was_ private, because Sam didn’t share his brother’s exhibitionist kink. He thought about maybe just call the whole thing off altogether, because Carrie just didn’t seem to hold the same appeal here in dirty alley as she had in line at the grocery store. 

But when she jerked his pants down enough to expose him, cupped his balls and squeezed, grinned and pumped up and down his mostly soft shaft, something made Sam look up.

And of course, of _course_ , that something was Dean.

Dean, not even bothering to hide, halfway around the corner and watching. Watching Carrie kiss his neck and grip him tighter, jerk him harder and faster.

Watching, as he hardened even more in her hand, with Dean’s eyes dark slits and Sam suddenly feeling much too hot, too itchy, too desperate. Like a pretty girl’s pretty fingers around his dick wasn’t even close to enough. Like he needed something else, something different, something rougher and harder bigger to push him over the edge. 

With Dean watching, standing there just ten feet away and _watching_ , he needed something she wasn’t giving him.

Dean licked his lips, slight and entirely unintentional and Sam’s dick filled heavier with blood and jerked in Carrie’s grip. Dean’s hand gripped the brick wall next to him, his jaw ticked and his eyes narrowed, and when Sam hitched a breathy little moan, he blamed it on Carrie brushing the broad pad of her thumb over his cockhead. 

Dean was still for a moment, didn’t even seem like he was breathing and then he turned, a quick spin and flash of his white t-shirt lit up by a street lamp and then he was gone. Disappeared around the same corner he’d come from.

Sam was halfway to standing up straight to follow him before he felt Carrie’s weight pushing against his chest, pinning him and place.

He closed his eyes, fought back a sigh and relaxed into the brick at his back. He concentrated on the soft little sighs she was letting out, the soft flesh of her slight breasts pressing against his ribs, the smoothness of her lips on his vulnerable skin and the dull edge of her fingernails sliding across the slit of his cock.

Which… was once again getting softer. Yeah, no. Dirty alleys with incredibly forward strangers really weren’t his thing. Not without Dean around, anyway.

“Uh...” he hedged, when the rapid jerks of Carrie’s fist started to slow, and she looked at him questioningly. “Sorry,” he said. Yeah, ‘sorry’. ‘Cause that was a great thing to tell someone when they were jerking you off and you started to get soft in their hand, because your brother wasn’t watching anymore. Fuck.

“That guy, right?” Carrie asked, with a crooked smile. She took half a step back and Sam’s jaw literally dropped.

“Guy?” he squeaked out, swallowing an imaginary lump in his throat. “You mean Dean?”

She smiled and put her hands on his hips, leaned up to press a soft kiss to his mouth.

“Yeah, Dean,” she confirmed. “That guy you were sitting with, right? I mean, he obviously has a thing for you.”

“Are you crazy?!” Sam shrieked. He shook his head and waved his hands. “Dean? No way.”

She only smiled though, stepped back and patted his chest. “And you’re clearly totally into him.”

“No,” Sam said, again, eyes still wide. “No he’s… we’re _brothers_.”

She only rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, right. Listen, Sam, it’s 2010. You don’t have to hide what you are, and you don’t have to try to change it by being with women.”

“No, that’s not… Listen, Carrie, you _really_ got it wrong.”

She snorted, raised a skeptical eyebrow and a glanced down at Sam’s completely soft prick, still hanging out of his zipper.

“I think I’m gonna head back inside,” she told him. “You want to get another drink, or…”

“Nah,” Sam said, his voice still wavering a little. He cocked his head toward the street and thumbed the air in the vague direction of their motel. “I think I’m just gonna…”

She smiled, kissed him one more time and walked away.

Sam stared after her until she turned the same corner Dean had a few minutes ago, and he wondered just when in the hell he’d actually started to _fall_ for his brother.

Jesus.

***

He wasn’t inside the room for more than a few seconds before the door was slammed shut behind him and he was blinking like a moron, with Dean’s fist balled up in the front of his shirt and his back flat against the door.

And that little move there? The one where Dean pushed him around and stole his breath without Sam ever even seeing it coming? Totally wasn’t hot at all.

Nope. Not even a little. Okay, yes, Sam was a giant liar. Damn Dean and his big, strong hands, anyway.

“Dean, what the fuck?” he gasped, willingly tilting his head back and opening his legs, to let Dean slip in between them and press harder against his chest. Stupid legs. 

“Have fun, little brother?” Dean asked, lips curling up into a snarl over his teeth. His hand slid down Sam’s stomach, fingers twitching over Sam’s tightening abdominal muscles. 

“Did...” Sam choked out, moaning happily when Dean leaned into him. Fuck, but Sam had to fight hard to stop himself from getting rock hard, right there. Dean would make fun of him for days. “Did you have fun watching?”

Dean’s fist caught around Sam’s hip, holding him in place and he pulled back, cocked an eyebrow. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Sam blinked. “Huh?” Because with Dean’s hand hovering dangerously close to his cock, thumb less than an inch away, Sam couldn’t really be expected to think coherently. Even if what Dean said _had_ made any sense.

Dean smiled and his hand moved, nimble fingers flicking the button at the top of Sam’s fly and he slowly, slowly lowered it.

“You’d like to give me a show,” Dean explained. His voice was lower, more sincere, scratchy and harsh. “Does it turn you on that I watched?”

“Dean...” Sam said, shook his head to try to clear it. This wasn’t fair. He needed to think about this, needed some time and Dean all up in his space like this - that wasn’t making it easy. “Fuck off, man.”

Dean stepped back slightly at that. Put a full foot of space between them and just looked at Sam. It made his stomach clench with the equal desires to pull him back in and to push him away, just go to bed and pretend this fucked up… whatever this was... wasn’t happening.

Because this thing? It _was_ fucked up. He could read Dean pretty well, after spending nearly every second of every day in the guy’s company. And he was especially attuned to Dean these days, now that they were intimate. And the way Dean was acting was suspiciously close to a jealous boyfriend. Which was something that Sam didn’t want to admit was kind of a turn-on.

He’d never really understood jealousy before, but it was unmistakably flattering to have someone, even _Dean_ , look at him that way, like he _mattered_ , like losing him would destroy them. Granted, Dean sort of gave the whole thing a mildly psychotic, obsessive vibe, but hey. That was Dean.

“You don’t want this?” Dean asked, way too flippant, like if Sam didn’t, that was A-okay by Dean. Too cool for school, that was Dean, too. Fucking jerk. “Cause if you’ve got somewhere else to be...”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. He didn’t try to move from his place pinned to the wall, just looked down at Dean with a quirked brow, letting Dean know he didn’t buy his act. “Seriously, Dean,” he said. “What you’re doing right now, spying earlier… That look you gave me back when… Dean, this isn’t like you. What’s going on?”

“I’ve been wanting this,” Dean breathed out, stepped forward again and plastered himself against Sam. He ducked his head into Sam’s neck, hid his face so to avoid eye contact and Sam was secretly grateful. “You, finally getting laid and not being such a raging queer.”

Sam took a deep breath and just nodded. Obviously this wasn’t easy for Dean, this… confession, or whatever it was Dean was working up to. Good, because it wasn’t easy for Sam, either, hearing it. It made Sam’s own screwed up feelings a little too real.

“This was,” Dean mumbled into his neck, his lips ghosting over the hot skin and making Sam jerk back, then relax with a soft moan. “This was exactly what we needed.” Sam sucked in a breath and Dean shoved his leg in between Sam’s, brushed his thigh up against Sam’s half-hard dick.

“Uh huh,” Sam absently agreed, and fuck his stupid-ass gay libido for getting turned on so hard by his brother shoving him up against a wall. Where was this shit half an hour ago?

“Because this thing with us...” Sam whimpered when Dean spoke and Dean slid his thumb across the front of his boxers, ran it along the length of his hardening cock. “I mean... not that there’s a thing, but...” Sam smiled a little and Dean closed a hand around Sam’s wrist and slammed it back against the door. 

“Course not,” Sam said, smirking. He knew he wasn’t ever going to be the only one for Dean, and he was okay with that. He was pretty sure he didn’t even want to be. Moments like this were enough. Confusing as hell and enough. _More_ than enough, really.

“Dude, just...” Dean snapped and moved his hand to slam his palm across Sam’s chest. He shoved him into the door, _hard_ , knocking the wind out of him. “Fuck off, alright? I can hear you gloating.”

Sam’s smile broadened and his hand moved up and down on Dean’s back, pulling him closer. “I’ll stop once you tell me what the fuck this possessive bullshit is all about.”

Dean ducked his head, twisted it away from Sam’s face and rested his cheek across Sam’s collar bone. “You’re a fucking douche, you know that?”

“Jealous, Dean?” Sam asked, a teasing lilt to his voice that he knew would drive Dean crazy. He was pushing, might end up with a bloody nose for it, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t go that way, this time. Dean was fucked up over this, they _both_ were, but he was coming around.

Dean snickered and rubbed his nose into Sam’s shoulder. “You wish, kiddo.”

“Then what the hell is this all about?”

“She didn’t even get you off, did she?” Dean asked, completely ignoring the question.

“Dean...”

“It’s cool, Sammy,” Dean said, licking gently over the base of Sam’s neck. “I knew she wouldn’t.” 

Dean’s hand worked its way into Sam’s underwear, the fit tight and sort of uncomfortable because his pants were still in the way. He ground his teeth with the effort it took not to give in and fuck forward into the curl of Dean’s fist.

“I mean it, Dean,” Sam gasped. “You need to tell me.” _I need to hear it._ “What the fuck is this?” 

“This? This is because she wasn’t doing it right, little brother. If you’re gonna hook up with someone so easy, you could at least pick someone with _skills_.”

“Like you?” Sam snickered. 

“Tell me I’m wrong, Sammy,” Dean said, as he pushed Sam back once more, with the full force of his body. Sam could feel the tension in Dean, could feel him on the verge, go or stay. He honestly wasn’t sure which Dean would choose, what he _wanted_ Dean to choose. “Tell me she did it for you.”

“Dean...” It was meant to convey his exasperation. It came out more of a needy little whimper. Fucking vocal chords.

“She didn’t, Sam,” Dean said and opened his mouth to lick across Sam’s neck, broader this time. “I know she didn’t. Because she’s not what you needed.”

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam said, gasping softly. He might actually be able to carry on a conversation this ridiculous if his brother would stop fucking _licking him_ and stroking his cock with those maddening, calloused fingertips of his. “You’re the one pinning me to the wall here. Who’s the...”

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” Dean growled. His teeth closed lightly over the skin of Sam’s shoulder, a warning. “I’m not fucking jealous. I’m _generous_. She was doing it wrong, so I’m offering to… do it right.”

Sam chuckled at that, and Dean’s teeth closed tighter against his skin.

It was harder than he thought it would be not to push up into Dean’s soft bite. 

“I think you’re taking this a little too personal, Dean. Besides, what the hell do you mean she was doing it wrong?”

“Am I not speaking slowly enough for you? I mean she wasn’t doing what you like,” Dean said. His tongue flicked out to lick behind Sam’s ear and suddenly his hand was squeezing _hard_ around Sam’s cock. “Am I wrong, Sammy?” And fuck Dean’s voice anyway for being so goddamn sexy, when it was all rough and growly like that.

Dean snickered in his ear and his he loosened his fist, then tightened it again, even harder. Sam let out an embarrassing whimper and Dean rolled closer to him, hips first, then his chest.

“I’m not wrong, am I? I know you, Sammy. I know what you like.”

“You think you do,” Sam managed to croak out, but the protest sounded weak even to his own ears. And what the hell? Sam was supposed to be the one winning this messed up game. When the hell did Dean manage to turn the tables on him? Looked like Sam had been taking lessons from Dean in thinking with his dick.

“I know that she mumbled those sweet nothings into your ear, and not that place on your neck, right.... there...” Sam felt the smile, the curve of Dean’s lips as Dean illustrated his point and he really couldn’t argue. Sam’s cock leapt in Dean’s hand and a few drops of pre-come dribbled from the tip.

“I know you were waiting, hoping for her to touch you just right, but she never did. Because she didn’t know how, not like I do.”

“Oh my God. Dean, you’re insane,” Sam said, half-assedly trying to shake his brother off. “I know we’ve fucked a few times and we’ve done... other stuff a bunch, but I’d honestly be surprised if you had even once paid enough attention to know what I like or how I like it.”

Dean tilted his head up and smiled that knowing, challenging smile of his and Sam shuddered.

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, nipping at Sam’s earlobe. “I know you better than you think, baby.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath at the unintentional term of endearment and he tried to be as still as possible. Shit. When the hell had Dean started to affect him this way?

“I know that you’d have liked it better if she’d bit softly just behind your ear.” And the fucker had to go and prove it was true by _doing_ it, by making Sam whimper and wriggle under Dean’s hold.

“Dean...” Yup, that sounded needy again, but this time he didn’t care.

Dean chuckled at that and the vibrations against Sam’s neck went straight to his cock. “You’d have liked it better if she’d pulled on your hair just a little...” And again Dean’s actions followed his words, made Sam yelp, made his knees buckle.

“That’s...” Completely fucking accurate, actually.

“And when she started jerking you off?” Dean said, rolling forward again. He rubbed his hip up against Sam’s embarrassingly hard cock, then started to jerk it as much as he could inside Sam’s pants, rough and stilted. It was mostly dry, only a little bit of Sam’s slick to ease the way. It pulled, burned a little, was way too tight, but it was fucking _incredible_. “Her fingers were too gentle, weren’t they? Too slow, too light, too small... not what you wanted.”

Sam swallowed around a dry lump in his throat and Dean pressed his lips to Sam’s neck, not quite a kiss, just left them there so his breath made Sam’s skin moist. Sam shivered when he pulled back and blew a light stream of air where his lips had been, the coolness causing goosebumps.

“You don’t… uh, _God_... you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Blow me, Sam,” Dean said, cutting him off. Sam was very close to saying ‘yes please’ and dropping to his knees right there, even though he knew Dean had meant it as an insult rather than a request.

Dean’s hand twisted at his arm, fell to his hip and yanked. He let Dean turn him, let him press him against the wall while he shimmied Sam’s pants down enough to pull out his cock and start to work it properly, in long, sure strokes. 

“This,” Dean said, punctuating the word with the light scrape of his thumbnail over Sam’s slit. His hand disappeared for a few seconds, only to return along with Dean’s hard cock rubbing up against the bare skin of his lower back. “This is what you want, Sammy. Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me.”

Sam couldn’t really deny that, couldn’t lie to Dean even if he wanted to. He _did_ like it, he _did_ want it. But... there was something about Dean’s tone, scratched out and desperate, shaky as he growled. Something about the way the words were torn from his throat smacked of real jealousy and real anger, and just like that it wasn’t all in Sam’s head anymore. It wasn’t just a game, a joke.

It wasn’t Sam fucking someone else that Dean had a problem with. Hell, Dean had set him up with a hooker a couple of months back and Dean found most sex about as meaningful as a handshake. It was because Carrie had been someone that Dean thought Sam had liked, someone he had talked to, spent time with. Someone he might have, if their lives had been extremely different, wanted to take out again.

Sure, Sam wanted what he had with Dean to be more than just meaningless sex. He had fun, he _cared_ , he’d go home with Dean nine times out of ten even if he did have other options, but suddenly the idea of Dean being on board with that made Sam’s stomach clench and his chest feel tight.

He wasn’t ready to be Dean’s girlfriend. Boyfriend. Whatever.

“She didn’t do this, did she?” Dean asked. He kicked Sam’s legs apart, angled his cock down over the swell of Sam’s ass leaving a cool, sticky trail. “You like it a little rougher than your pretty little girlfriend could give you.”

“Dean...” Sam said, the word barely a breath and Dean’s hand on the back of his head slammed him hard into the wood. He winced and tensed, then relaxed against the sheer force of _Dean_ at his back. “Seriously, man. What has gotten into you?”

“Don’t fucking move, Sammy,” Dean growled, and his cock rubbed up and down over the crack of Sam’s ass. Sam moaned and arched his back, canting his hips backward in invitation. God, sometimes his body just really hated him.

Dean snickered a little and pumped his hips against Sam. “I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Sam swallowed. Okay, he was willing to play, at least for now. Dean was never ever this forward, this intense and it was really, really working for Sam, on just about every possible level. Dean was being kind of a jealous bitch, true, but it was hot as fuck and if Sam had to get half-assed hand jobs from slutty blondes that didn’t even get him off every damn Friday night for the rest of his life, he was completely willing to make that sacrifice if this was the result. Because _damn_.

This was a long time in coming, and Sam fought it pretty damn hard at first, but he knew it had been easier on him than it had been on Dean. Sam could be the bigger the man here and admit that he loved having his brother’s cock up his ass, or his own down Dean’s throat just about as much as he loved research. More sometimes.

That might make him more than a little bit gay, but at this point in his life that was probably the least of his problems. Right behind the incest.

“Well come on then, Dean,” Sam said, his voice low with obvious want. “If you think you know what I like so much, get the hell on with it. Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are.” As taunts go, it was sorely lacking but Dean, ever predictable, took the bait.

It didn’t last long. It was rough and quick and Dean’s hand was gripping him with a little too much pressure as he rutted against Sam from behind, the tip of his cock sliding just barely between Sam’s cheeks on each stroke. The fingers of Dean’s other hand dug into Sam’s chest, nails cutting through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, curling tiny little crescents into his tender flesh. Dean’s face was pressed to the back of his neck, his mouth open to breathe hot air over the knob of Sam’s spine while his teeth slammed into Sam on each thrust, leaving marks on the skin of his neck to match his chest. It was perfect.

It wasn’t long before Sam felt the warm splash of Dean’s released over base of his spine, before Dean swore under his breath and a few more softer, slower thrusts of his hips pushed some of the spunk through Sam’s crack. Sam bit his lip to keep from moaning and tried to push faster into Dean’s fist, but Dean held him still.

“Not ‘til I say so, Sammy,” he growled.

“Come the fuck on, Dean,” Sam whined. Or, he tried to anyway, but it came out more breathless than he’d intended. “If I want to _not_ come, I can just go give Carrie a call.”

“Ha!” Dean laughed, a sharp bark and his hand immediately sped up again. “I fucking knew it.”

“Shut up,” Sam grouched. “Asshole.”

“You ready, Sammy?” Dean asked, voice curled around a smile and his mouth just behind Sam’s ear, breath hot over the shell.

“Yes! Fuck, get me off you jerk.”

Dean relaxed his grip and kept his pace and just as Sam was ready to shoot he felt the sharp bite of Dean’s teeth into the base of his neck, just above his shoulder.

_Hard_.

There probably wasn’t blood, at least Sam didn’t think so, but there was definitely going to be a mark. A great big fucking _bite mark_ on the back of his neck and it hurt like a _bitch_. And it wasn’t sexy at all. It was nothing like some of the love bites that Sam had indulged in with people in the past, even the rougher ones. It hurt so much it successfully prevented his orgasm, made his body try to jerk away and he squirmed under Dean’s weight, trying to push him off.

Dean didn’t budge though, just pressed harder against him and slowly opened his jaw, letting Sam’s over-sensitive skin loose, the sting renewing as the blood rushed to the surface.

“What the _fuck_ , Dean?” Sam asked, but Dean didn’t answer except to snake his tongue out,gently lick along the reddened flesh and sooth away the teeth marks, the almost-tear in the skin. And he did it for a long time. Longer than he thought Dean could ever possibly be that tender. He kept right on doing it, even after his fist started pumping up and down again on Sam’s prick.

Sam came not long after, Dean’s open lips resting on his neck, his tongue tracing soft patterns over the mark and when he was done Dean spun him around, pressed his back against the door again, gentler this time. His hands were holding Sam’s arms at his sides against the wood his breath was coming heavy and uneven and his eyes were steady on Sam’s.

“Remind me to make you jealous more often,” Sam tried to joke, but it fell flat at the look in Dean’s eyes.  
There was a tense silence before Dean finally muttered something along the lines of “Fuck it”, and he leaned forward. Sam flinched, worried that Dean might bite him again or hell, head butt him, but Dean didn’t. He kissed him.

Not like last time, not quick and dirty and pulling away before Sam could even respond, but soft and chaste and almost... _shy_. Dean was pressing his closed lips to Sam’s, just resting them there, barely touching. He didn’t even move until Sam exhaled through his nose, opened his mouth just a bit.

Dean opened his own then, snaked his tongue out and slid it over Sam’s. Over his teeth, the roof of his mouth, testing, exploring, pressing suddenly too hard and then it was all teeth and tongues and mashing lips. Like Dean had been holding back for so long, for _years_ and the floodgates were suddenly open.

He moaned into Dean’s mouth, jerked his hips forward to brush his spent dick up against Dean’s and when Dean went still Sam was almost afraid. Afraid that Dean was going to stop, pull back, probably punch him and then never, ever touch him again, so Sam froze too. His breath hitched and his hands clenched and unclenched, still pinned to the door by Dean’s strong grip.

And then... Then Dean relaxed. His lips went soft and his tongue just barely slid over Sam’s one more time before it pulled out of his mouth. Dean’s lips closed together over Sam’s, Sam’s mouth closing under the gentle pressure and Dean puckered again once, twice, pressing two soft, quick kisses against the line of Sam’s lips. Sam tried to respond, but he got only air when Dean stepped away and gave Sam’s wrists one last shove, hard into the door before letting go.

It was one of the hottest – no scratch that – _the_ hottest kiss Sam had ever been given. Shit, he even thought maybe he swooned a little. Maybe fell a little in love with Dean. He didn’t do either of course, because he and Dean weren’t about swooning and fluffy gay love, he just _thought_ he might have. It was no doubt those beautiful puffy lips and that perfect, perfect tongue of Dean’s that made him forget himself a little.

“You fuck me up, man,” Dean said. His voice trembled and he shook his head and Sam silently agreed.

“Dean, I...”

“Fuck, Sammy. Just... Go to fucking bed.”

Dean turned and headed for the bathroom with a sigh. Sam sighed as well, stripped out of his clothes and wiped himself off, pulled on a fresh pair of shorts and got into his own bed. He wasn’t stupid enough to take “go to bed” as an invitation and he didn’t think he would have even if Dean _had_ meant it that way. He needed time, time to himself, time to think.

He wasn’t sure what just happened or what it meant, or really what he even wanted it to mean, but as he watched through the half-open bathroom door while Dean leaned over the sink and splashed water on his face, he couldn’t help but think that things had just gotten real.

And he didn’t completely hate the idea. Huh.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next arc is coming soon and will pick up where this left off. It will hopefully be lighter and funnier again, but follow a slightly different theme.


End file.
